


Old Familiar Haunts

by solomonara



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Bruce Wayne's A+ Parenting, Don't copy to another site, Drugging, Gothic Elements, Gothic Romance with modern sensibilities, Isolation, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self-Induced Vomiting, and there are follies, light on the relationship type romance though, that's capital-R romance as in the literary movement, the weather commits pathetic fallacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-12-14 12:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: Jason Todd got lucky: he was adopted by Talia Head, escaped Gotham, and grew up traveling the world. So what could the famously reclusive Bruce Wayne, holed up in his mausoleum of a manor, possibly want with him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elwon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwon/gifts).

> In 2018, elwon submitted the following as a prompt for the [JayDick Summer Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/JayDickSummerExchange):  
"Wayne Manor in the summertime is still a strange forbidding place, but it's somehow worse in the sunshine."  
I knew immediately I wanted to do something with it, but I also knew there was no way I'd be done in time for the exchange. So, here, elwon, one year (and a few months) later, is a treat for you. I hope you like it!
> 
> Major thanks to [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22) and [stevieraebarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes) for their prodigious beta work on this fic. It's long, and they are patient.

Gotham didn't do sunshine. Or rather, it _shouldn't_, Jason thought as he straddled his motorcycle at the base of the long, serpentine drive leading up to Wayne Manor. He was taking a moment to come to terms with the fact that he – street kid from the bad part of the bad part of town – was actually inside the gates. Legally.

He'd seen it from a distance, of course. Before he'd dropped out of school, a field trip had taken his bus out this way. It had been raining then, and that was always how Jason thought of the manor if he thought of it at all: dark and damp, seen through the spindly cracks of bare trees in a wet autumn by a kid who couldn't even imagine how someone could _live_ in a place like that. It had looked like the Platonic ideal of a haunted house, the template from which all others had been built.

Wayne Manor in the summertime was still a strange, forbidding place, but it was somehow worse in the sunshine. Jason, an adult now, nevertheless recounted every single story of how haunted the place was as he kicked his bike back into gear and made his way up the drive, barely touching the throttle.

_Bruce Wayne is an old friend_, Talia had said when the letter – the _summons_ – had arrived. _You should accept the invitation_.

Talia didn't make suggestions lightly. As her adopted son, Jason had had all the freedom a kid could want growing up, and possibly a bit more. He pretended to know exactly nothing about her very mysterious business that moved her all over the world, often in the company of people who looked rather dangerous (and, indeed, that was _all_ he knew about it; he deliberately looked no closer), and she rarely gave him orders.

So he'd agreed to visit, and he'd agreed to tell her all about his visit, and she'd smiled at him and bought his plane ticket and sent him on his way that evening. Even though she'd never mentioned Bruce Wayne in all the years Jason had known her. Even though Bruce Wayne was, famously, a recluse, and Talia hadn't been near Gotham since she'd snatched Jason off the streets when he'd tried to steal the tires off of her Bentley.

At any rate, here he was. He raised a fist to knock on the heavy-looking oak doors, then saw the bell at the last second. No way anyone would hear his knock through what looked like approximately three feet of solid wood.

The bell made no sound that Jason could hear, but the door opened so quickly that he nearly jumped. The man who had answered was thin, balding, and impeccably dressed in a full suit, complete with tails.

"Hi," Jason said. "I'm—"

"Jason Todd," the man said, taking him in. "At last."

"I came straight here from the airport," Jason said. "I guess traffic was a little bad?" It hadn't been, not really. Or maybe it was bad for Gotham. Jason had left the city at thirteen, without much experience of rush hour.

"Indeed. I am Alfred Pennyworth, Master Bruce's butler. Do come in," Alfred said, standing aside and sweeping an arm inward.

"Thanks. Is there somewhere I can park my bike?" The bike had been waiting for him at the airport, compliments of dear old Mother, who knew how Jason preferred to travel. Mr. Wayne's letter had indicated that Jason would be welcome to stay as long as he liked, and that Mr. Wayne hoped it would be a lengthy visit, so Jason had had the rest of his luggage shipped. He wasn't sure "as long as he liked" would match up with as long as Mr. Wayne liked, but he'd be prepared either way.

"Ah, yes. Apologies for the lack of valet; I'm afraid I am the only staff on hand. Might I ask you to stable your steed in the garage? It's just around the corner of the house to your right."

"Yeah, no problem. Back in a minute." Jason took his bike along the paved path back to the garage. One of the six doors creaked open as he approached, gaping like the entrance to a cave. With the way the sun was shining outside, it took his eyes several moments to adjust to the dimness in the garage. When they did, his eyebrows went up.

It was a good thing his bike was relatively small, because this garage was fully occupied by sleek, gleaming sports cars of what looked like every variety as long as it came in black. Jason spied a Camaro, a Boxster, and a Bugatti before the rest of the row faded into darkness, but there were definitely some more unfamiliar shapes down there. He left his bike carefully at the end of the aisle and backed out.

The overhead door clattered shut behind Jason. He wondered if there was a track somewhere on the grounds because Bruce Wayne didn't exactly have the reputation of someone who went zipping around town in souped up cars. Maybe he was just a collector. Jason's mouth curved downward. He didn't think much of the idle rich and hoped the mysterious Mr. Wayne had a little more to offer than expensive, pointless hobbies.

Alfred was still waiting for him by the door and nodded Jason inside. "May I take your bag?" he asked.

"Oh, no, that's okay," Jason said. "I got it."

"Certainly," Alfred said, though he gave him an arch look as he pulled the doors closed. Jason hoped he hadn't just made some kind of terrible butler faux pas, but he was a little distracted by his first sight of the manor's interior.

The entryway was cavernous, the ceiling much too far overhead. A massive chandelier hung from it, but it was unlit. When the door _thunked_ closed the foyer was left in oppressive twilight, the only light filtering through from tall, narrow, curtain-shrouded windows set high in the wall above the door. Jason wondered how anyone managed to dust up there.

"You'll want to freshen up after your journey," Alfred said. "I'll show you to your quarters."

He didn't wait for Jason to respond, but led the way up a grand staircase that curved down one wall of the entryway. The railing was wider than Jason's hand, polished to a high shine. Four people could have easily walked abreast up the stairs, though they narrowed a little as they came to the top and gave way to a landing overlooking the foyer.

Their path took them to the right down a short, narrow hallway before it opened up again into a sort of mezzanine: closed doors and dark, walnut-paneled walls to the left and a view down into a parlor to the right. The balustrade here continued in the same vein as the entry stairs: solid, thick wood, supported by stoutly curved spindles that looked like they were being crushed under its weight. Jason stuck to Alfred's left; the railing seemed quite sturdy, but that would be a long fall onto some very ornate furniture that didn't look at all forgiving, and Jason hadn't been raised to take unnecessary risks in unfamiliar environments.

After the parlor overlook, the hallway closed in again with rooms on either side – or at least, Jason presumed they were rooms. There might have been half a dozen broom closets behind the closed doors, for all he knew. Alfred didn't seem to be feeling particularly chatty.

Finally they reached the end of the hall and Alfred gestured to the door on the left, the very last room (though there was an identical door directly across.)

"Your room, Mr. Todd. If anything is not to your liking, please do let me know."

"I'm sure it's fine," Jason said, hiking his duffel a little higher on his shoulder. "Thanks, er, Mr. Pennyworth," he hazarded, being completely unsure how to address a butler.

Alfred blinked at him. Was it Jason's imagination or did his cool, professional expression soften just a touch? "Alfred will do, sir, thank you."

"Then you can call me Jason."

That was definitely the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "As you like, sir." Jason sighed. Worth a shot. "Dinner is at 6:30. Do you have any dietary restrictions or preferences?"

Jason shook his head no.

"Very good. Please get settled. You may explore the house if you like, of course, though if you find a locked door we ask that you respect it."

"Of course," Jason said with a little laugh. "It's not like I'm going to go around breaking doors down." He could pick locks, of course. Talia had ensured his education was… thorough. But Alfred didn't need to know that.

"Indeed," Alfred said. Jason had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't the slightest bit fooled.

Alfred left Jason to it with a dignified nod and Jason turned to his room.

The door opened silently and easily, swishing over the heavy, muted rug. The thing matched the runner that had been on the stairs and that ran down the hallway. It looked like an antique though Jason could feel even through his boots that it was still plush. It had some kind of pattern on it, muted enough to be inoffensive but detailed enough to be interesting if you had nothing to do but stare at it. Were those orchids in the borders? Who had a Turkish rug with _orchids_?

The rest of the room exhibited a similar casual opulence. For one thing, it was huge. The furniture – four-poster bed complete with curtains, writing desk, chest of drawers, wardrobe (even though there was a modern closet), armchair – was all heavy, dark wood. The curtains on the bed matched the deep blue that was in the rug's design. The curtains on the windows—

Jason had had just about enough of curtains on windows. He dropped his bag at the foot of the bed and strode across the room to fling open the ones covering the window on the far wall. They swished open with a satisfying rattle as the rings scraped across the rod, and he felt no compunctions about repeating the process on the other window set into the wall to the right.

Sunlight streamed in, pulling warm highlights from the wood. The room was on a corner at the back of this wing, so Jason had a view of the grounds in two directions. Directly below the back window was a patio with a sparkling, pristine pool, while the window to the right overlooked the garage where Jason had parked his bike.

He turned a slow circle in the center of the room, then opened the closet doors curiously. It was a walk-in closet, of course. He looked from the empty racks and shelves and cupboards to his rather tired-looking duffel. He could fit its entire contents in the dresser. For that matter, he himself could have happily stayed in the closet and given the room to someone with more things to fill it. Not that there seemed to be an abundance of human life around here.

He closed the closet and went to the other door in the room. It opened onto a bathroom with both a stall shower and a deep tub that looked like a man of Jason's size might actually be able to stretch out in it. There were two sinks, and a little vanity section of countertop with a small bench. He had to go through yet another door to find the toilet, though.

Jason backed out of the bathroom and closed the door gently, making the trek back across the room to sit on the edge of the bed, which he abruptly realized was king sized. The room was large enough to make it seem reasonable. He dropped back with a sigh. What was he doing here?

_Your presence is requested at Wayne Manor_, the letter had said. That was really the bulk of it. There had been a bit of an introduction (_Though my acquaintance with your adoptive family has lapsed due to time and distance, I find myself at loose ends and eager to rekindle the connection_), some small attempt at explanation (_The manor could benefit from the infusion of youth in its halls, and I wonder if a boy once from Gotham might have interest in returning to the city of his origin. I think we might find much to discuss), _and then the open-ended invite specifying that he was to come as soon as possible and stay as long as he liked (_Though as we become acquainted I may hope that you find the environment intriguing and diverting enough to consider a lengthy stay)._

Jason had laughed, and showed the letter to Talia the next time she and he were in the same city. Talia had not laughed, but had looked thoughtful and… well, here he was.

Personally, Jason thought it was a little creepy that some old guy had summoned him here (why not invite Talia?) on a vague pretext. But hey, maybe the dude needed someone to leave his vast fortune to. Jason could be down for that, though he'd probably have to watch out for assassination attempts from the butler, because wasn't that usually how these things went?

He pulled out his phone intending to call Talia and let her know he'd arrived safely, but a firm No Service notice occupied the corner where bars would normally be. Jason moved to the window, trying to see if he could catch some signal, but there was no change. That was going to be annoying. He'd lived in a dorm once built of solid brick and concrete that had had the same problem. Residents had to practically dangle out the windows to make calls. Well, he'd called Talia before he'd left the airport, so she shouldn't be too worried.

Without a phone call to occupy him, Jason unpacked his bag slowly. His toothbrush looked pathetic in the stainless steel toothbrush holder next to one of the sinks, and his paperback looked cheap on the nightstand by the bed. He felt like he should be reading Dickens or Proust or something, not a copy of _Coraline_ with the movie cover that he'd just picked up at the airport since he'd finished his last book on the flight.

He had a few changes of clothes with him that looked a great deal like the clothes he was currently wearing – t-shirts, jeans – and suddenly wondered if he was expected to dress for dinner. Nothing had prepared him for the sort of old-money airs this place had oozing out of every hand-carved detail. Talia had money, but it wasn't this flavor. Hers was "travel anywhere you want at the drop of a hat" money. It was "own a penthouse in every major city" money, the kind of money where even if he and she had been on opposite sides of a continent they might still see each other for lunch. The money _here_ wasn't going anywhere.

Jason glanced at his phone. He had an hour until dinner. Part of him wanted to explore, but a bigger part really didn't want to meet Mr. Wayne randomly in some hallway. He wondered if not greeting his guest was supposed to send some kind of rich-person message, but then he decided he didn't care.

He had a nap instead.

Jason woke _convinced_ someone was in the room with him. But since he also woke unsure of what room he was in or even what continent he was on, perhaps that was understandable. It took him a moment to orient himself in the room and he sat up with a deep sigh, peering around. The door was still closed, as he'd left it. There was no hint that anything was other than as it should be. He somehow felt groggier than he had before the nap, though.

He splashed some water on his face, changed shirts, and was two steps out of the room before he realized he had no idea where he was going.

Well, Alfred had said he could explore, so he supposed he would.

He ignored the other doors that were identical to his since they were probably more bedrooms, but there was a narrower door just before the hallway opened onto the parlor below. He tried it and found a staircase. Dining rooms were usually on the first floor, right? Jason took what felt like servants stairs down. They switched back on themselves tightly, much more enclosed than the main staircase he and Alfred had come up.

The stairs ended in a sturdy door and Jason tried the knob hastily, suddenly irrationally concerned that he might be trapped in the stairway despite the fact that all he would have to do would be to turn around and go back the way he came. The doorknob was a perfectly round, cold lump of iron. It turned easily and Jason emerged into the same parlor he'd passed above.

From there, Jason managed to stumble into a ballroom (the brightest room yet, since not even Bruce Wayne could manage to put curtains on a skylight, it seemed), the pantry (larger than some apartments he'd seen), and finally the kitchen, where Alfred looked up from the stove with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm… lost," Jason said, a little sheepish but still drinking in the splendor that was the Wayne Manor kitchen. The rest of the manor had a closed-off, static feel to it but here there was life. Every surface gleamed, even the parts clearly not in use (like the second six-burner stove). There was a large marble island (with a secondary sink) in the center, a solid butcher's block in one corner, overhead storage for pots and pans—

Alfred cleared his throat and Jason realized he was staring. "Sorry," Jason said. "This kitchen is gorgeous."

Alfred smiled, actually smiled all the way, and Jason thought _Ah ha. Got you_. If all he had to do to get Alfred to thaw a little was take an interest in his kitchen, this was going to be a more pleasant stay than it had looked like so far.

"The dining room is just through that door, across the hall," Alfred said, indicating the appropriate exit since the kitchen had four, total. "Please do settle in. Feel free to help yourself to anything from the bar; I'm afraid Master Bruce is never down until just the moment of serving."

"Sure. Thanks," Jason said, drifting through the door. He wondered if dinner every night was this much of a production, with the master of the house appearing to a fresh cooked meal at the same time every evening.

The dining room was just where it ought to be. Two sets of French doors opened onto the patio at the back of the house, and two bay windows showed off the grounds to the side. None of them were swaddled in curtains, and the setting sun shone off the place settings laid out on the long mahogany table.

The _three_ place settings. Would Alfred eat with them? That would be nice. Jason felt like he and Alfred might get along, eventually, but he knew next to nothing about his host. Talia hadn't given him anything to go on, packing him up and shipping him out with some haste, as though she thought Wayne might change his mind about the invitation. She had also suggested Jason go in with an open mind, that she didn't want to bias him with her own opinions.

Jason had Googled him on the plane anyway, at least briefly. There wasn't much about him; he kept out of the media, and any news stories were many years out of date so Jason hadn't looked too hard and had gone back to his book instead. Now he wished he had dug a little deeper. He had no idea what to expect.

Jason was examining the large fireplace to see if it was real (of course it was) when the dining room door opened again. Jason turned, and there was Bruce Wayne.

He was tall – Jason stood up taller just seeing him – and he seemed to fill the room. Jason assumed it was just sheer charisma at first, but at a second glance, no, Mr. Wayne was _built_. He had the kind of muscle you saw on career wrestlers, only he seemed to be trying to hide it under a soft sweater and boring slacks.

"Jason," he said. "You made it." His voice was deep and rough, like he wasn't used to using it. Maybe he and Alfred didn't chat much.

"Uh, yeah," Jason said. "Thanks for the invite, Mr. Wayne."

"Of course. And please call me Bruce." He worded it like a command rather than an offer. King of his own castle, Jason supposed. That was fine. "Bruce" was a lot easier than mister-ing the guy all day.

The door swung open again and Alfred pushed in a service cart laden with covered dishes. They went through the casual dance of being seated and served, each dish laden with fragrant slices of roast lamb and fingerling potatoes. Then Alfred stepped back to stand unobtrusively against the wall, leaving them to it – and leaving the third place setting empty. Jason's eyes lingered on it just a little too long. He saw Bruce notice, saw his eyes flick to Alfred's over Jason's head, his expression obscure, at least to Jason. Jason pretended not to notice him noticing.

"So," he said, when it became clear his host was not going to initiate conversation. "Talia tells me you're an old friend."

"Did she say that?" Bruce asked. He picked up his wine glass, swirled it pensively, then put it back down without taking a drink.

"Yeah, and not much else," Jason said.

"Hm. She never was one for sharing information readily."

"I can see why you get along," Jason said with a small roll of his eyes before he could stop himself. Luckily, Bruce seemed to be amused by that.

"I suppose I've been a poor host. I'm not used to entertaining. But I am… very glad you came, Jason."

Jason shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Bruce was kind of intense. "Sure. Had to spend the summer somehow, right?"

"You're in school?"

"Just graduated, actually," Jason said, and he didn't bother to hide the pride in his voice. As far as he knew, neither of his biological parents had ever completed college and Jason had not only finished, he'd finished with honors.

"What did you study?"

"Lit," Jason said. "Talia actually made it possible for me to study all over the world, so it's kind of a hodge-podge of folklore, classics, religious studies, epic poetry, novels… but officially, I've graduated from Cambridge."

"Congratulations," Bruce said. "I'm— that's very well done."

"Thanks," Jason said, relieved he hadn't commented on how impractical that was. But then, he supposed if you had unlimited funds, practicality probably wasn't often your first concern. "Though I have to say, I'm not really sure what made you suddenly eager to meet a random world lit major. I'm guessing it wasn't my paper on post-humanism." It _had_ been a good paper, though. He'd won a prize for it.

"You aren't random," Bruce said. "You… were raised by Talia. She gave you a good life?"

The intensity was back. Jason felt like a heroine in a Victorian novel. Was Bruce about to reveal that he was Jason's real father or something? "Yeah. A really good life. I got lucky."

"Yes," Bruce said. "Good." He seemed to lose focus for a moment before blinking himself back to the dining room. "It's enough that you're here now."

"You… just wanted some company?" Jason hazarded. He was a little adrift. There was speculation that Bruce Wayne was a little more than eccentric, that he was actually mad, but Jason hadn't set much stock in it. "Madness" was just a convenient, simple way of ignoring any number of rationally explained conditions or illnesses. Now he was starting to doubt that stance.

"Yes. It will be good to have you around the house. If you'll stay. You've sent for your luggage?"

"Yeah, it should be here tomorrow or the day after."

"Anything else you need, anything more for a prolonged visit, just let Alfred know. We want you to feel at home here."

"Sure," Jason said, wondering if Bruce was actively _trying_ to be creepy.

Bruce nodded once, then folded his napkin and stood. "Excuse me. I'm afraid I feel a headache coming on." Without waiting for a response or reaction, he strode from the room. Jason watched him go.

Then he turned to Alfred. "Is he for real?"

Alfred actually looked surprised for half an instant. Then he nodded solemnly. "Master Bruce does his best, but it has been… difficult for him. Please don't judge him too harshly."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jason said, eyes going back to the closed door.

"If you're finished as well…?"

"No!" Jason said, only just stopping himself from clutching his plate in case Alfred was about to take it away. "I mean, this is the best meal I've had in… geez, probably since the last time I was in Paris. I'm gonna savor it, if you don't mind."

By the expression on his face – carefully controlled to butler-stoic but with just the slightest hint of pleasure around the eyes – Alfred did not mind in the least.

"You could join me," Jason suggested, nodding to the untouched place setting.

"Thank you, sir, but I have already eaten."

Jason shrugged. He'd crack him eventually. In the meantime, he'd be bringing a book with him to any future dinners.

After he'd eaten, he insisted on helping clear the table (okay, maybe he was sucking up a _little_, but he did genuinely hate to be waited on). Alfred finally shooed him out of the kitchen before he could start washing dishes, asking him what time he preferred breakfast in the morning.

"Uh, you can just point me toward the toaster and I'm good," Jason said. "You guys don't have every meal like this, with the whole formal dining room set up, do you?" he asked, eyeing the stools around the island in the center of the kitchen.

"No," Alfred said. "Friday night dinner was a tradition of Master Bruce's late mother. No matter how busy Dr. Wayne was, he would put in an appearance. Master Bruce remembers it fondly. But for other meals, I typically take a tray up. It's no trouble to bring one to you as well."

"No offense, Alfred, but that sounds kind of miserable. Would it bug you if I fended for myself down here?"

Alfred's lips were trying to smile again. "No, indeed, sir. Please avail yourself of the pantry. I daresay this kitchen is big enough for two."

"Great," Jason said, relieved. Maybe it would be possible to live like a human being for however long he was here after all. "Now all I need is a map of this labyrinth and I'll be right at home."

Finally, Alfred smiled. "You'll find your way about soon enough. And I do believe you'll bring a much needed breath of life to this old heap while you do so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come, but while you wait might I suggest reading elwon's own fill for this prompt? [The Mysteries of Wayne Manor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16872189/chapters/39621078) is perfect for all of your actual historical Gothic needs!


	2. Chapter 2

Jason woke suddenly and completely in the dead of the night. That happened sometimes when he was traveling, especially the first night in a new place. A new place that didn't have any digital clocks whatsoever. He rolled over and batted at his phone, then winced when it lit up far too brightly in the dark room.

3:24 AM. What a stupid time to be awake. Jet lag, probably. The best thing he could do would be to go back to sleep. He rolled over and closed his eyes, but it didn't take long to realize that his body was very determined to be awake right now.

With a sigh, he got up and pulled on a shirt. He'd walk around a little, just to prove to his stupid Circadian cycle that it really was night time. He glanced at his boots and decided to go barefoot in his pajama pants and t-shirt. Slippers would be nice, but he didn't think he'd remembered to pack them in the luggage that would be arriving shortly. Maybe he'd ask Alfred.

The carpet was soft enough under his feet, but the manor seemed to hold a chill even in the heat of summer. Had he packed a hoodie in one of those cases that were on the way? He couldn't remember, but it seemed likely. He padded out into the hallway and stopped dead.

There was someone standing directly across the hall staring at him. For a moment, Jason thought Alfred had left a full length mirror there, but no. The other man was black haired and blue eyed, but he was a little slimmer, his hair a little longer. _He_ had slippers.

"Who— what—?" was about all his brain could manage. The guy standing there didn't look _real_. The hallway was dim, only lit by a soft wall sconce a few doors away, casting his face half in warm light, half in dramatic shadow. His eyes were _so_ blue.

"Oh," the apparition said, and that was something of a relief. Then he bit his lip and that was even more of a relief, because surely ghosts didn't get nervous. "You must be Jason."

"I must be. I mean, I am. Who are you?" Jason asked, too surprised to be polite.

"Dick," said Dick. He was watching Jason suspiciously, and Jason realized Dick had reached behind himself, had a hand on the knob of the door to the room directly across from Jason's. "Were you looking for me?"

"Looking for you?" Jason echoed. "I didn't even know you existed." Oh. The third place setting. And wait, hadn't there been _something_? Back when Jason had been a kid in Gotham, some tragedy where Bruce Wayne had stepped in?

But that seemed to be the right answer, because Dick relaxed and his hand came off the doorknob. "Bruce invited you but he didn't tell you about me?" Dick's smile was wry. He already knew the answer and wasn't surprised by it.

"Bruce hasn't told me much of anything," Jason said. His toes were getting cold. "He's a little…" He grasped for something tactful. "Hard to follow."

"He has a lot on his mind."

"I think he was expecting you at dinner," Jason said. "Maybe for introductions?"

Dick's mouth became a downturned slash. "Yeah. I wasn't feeling well."

"I'm keeping you up," Jason said. "Sorry. Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean you can't."

"Here I thought I had woken you," Dick said. "I have a hard time sleeping, sometimes, so I wander."

"I think if I wandered around here too much I'd trip over a chaise lounge or an armoire or something and break a leg."

Dick grinned. "Alfred leaves lights on, here and there. We're a nocturnal bunch, a lot of the time. If you want, I could—" He stopped himself. "Never mind. I'm sure you'll find your way around. I'm going to bed." He slipped through the door before Jason could so much as wish him good night, and Jason heard the distinct click of a lock being turned.

He blinked. Yes, that guy had _clearly_ been raised by the same Bruce Wayne Jason had just met. He looked up and down the hallway but decided maybe he'd be better off just sitting in bed and reading on the off chance sleep might return, rather than venturing any further into the manor tonight.

When he finally managed to fall asleep, he dreamed of peeling away the wallpaper in his room and finding a void behind it, of slipping through and the paper sealing itself up behind him.

It was a good thing that he hadn't taken Alfred up on his offer of a breakfast tray, because Jason slept well into the morning. It was 10:30 by the time he managed to roll out of bed. He wondered if this was a "get dressed" kind of household and decided he definitely wasn't comfortable enough here to stay in his pajamas all day, regardless.

The weather was back to its usual cloudy gloom. Jason opened his curtains wide anyway, still determined to get his body on board with its new time zone. He checked his phone. No messages from Talia. And still no signal, for that matter, and no wifi networks in range. How did people live like this.

He glanced at Dick's door as he left his room, last night's encounter feeling more and more like a dream the more Jason woke up. At least he had a route to the kitchen, though, and managed it without getting lost. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, so Jason raided the pantry (which, if fully stocked, would be large enough to feed a sizeable horde from) for bread and found eggs in the refrigerator. He ate toast and scrambled eggs at the kitchen island and cleaned up thoroughly after himself. When he was finished, he found that only an hour or so had passed. Now what?

Now he'd look for a landline, or a computer with an internet connection. There had to be one somewhere. If he found Alfred first, he'd ask him.

He discovered what had once been an office down the hall from the dining room, though everything was now covered in dust sheets. Beyond that, a den in the same condition. He did encounter one of the locked doors Alfred had warned him about in the entryway and passed it by, crossing through the parlor and into the wing of the first floor he had yet to explore.

Here and there a portrait glowered at him from a wall. He jumped the first time he rounded a corner and found one directly in his eyeline, thinking for an instant that he'd uncovered another resident of the manor. But no, it was just some Wayne ancestor, looking placidly out from a gilt frame. He scowled and continued down the hall. Had he been disparaging about the sunlight when he arrived yesterday? Now he wished for it back. Anything was better than this dreary entombment that made everything seem just slightly macabre.

His exploration uncovered neither phone, nor computer, nor butler. But it did lead him to a library. The omnipresent dust sheets had invaded here, too, but the shelves were neatly kept. Tall, narrow windows at the back of the room revealed the patio on the front of the house. Jason pulled those curtains open, too, waging war on the gloom.

The patio was lined with large planters overflowing with bright green vines, shoots of lavender centered in each. Tall potted cypress trees stood sentinel in the corners. Overall it looked like a rather pleasant place to pass an afternoon with a book, but there was no way out from here.

Jason back-tracked, circled around, and walked through the same room three times before he found his way out through a room right next door to the library. It looked like it might have been intended to be a gallery, but the paintings were covered, leaving only an open expanse of gleaming wood floor and a shrouded irregular shape in the corner that Jason found to be a baby grand piano. He ignored it all, his goal the large glass doors at the other end.

These doors were locked, but only with a turn-latch, so surely Alfred hadn't meant not to open these, especially since it was clear what was on the other side. Jason flipped the latch and stepped out onto the patio.

It was _hot_. The heat took him by surprise after the pervasive chill of the manor. How was there not condensation on every window? And he could smell rain on the air. He inhaled deeply, then realized he hadn't brought his book down from his room. But he found he didn't much want to go back into the house.

There was a small clutch of wicker chairs with tan cushions at one end of the patio, near an herb garden Jason hadn't noticed from inside. He was pleased to find the chairs quite comfortable and settled into one, taking note of the basil, rosemary, and thyme, plus a few herbs he was unfamiliar with.

He leaned back in the chair and let the warmth of the day sink into his skin. He didn't have any papers to write or obligations to keep, and that was a novelty. He could sit in this chair and enjoy the day unhurried and unbothered by anything more pressing than the thought of whether it might rain.

He brushed his fingers through the nearest stalks of rosemary and inhaled the scent. It was pleasant.

If he didn't find something to do with himself he was going to go fucking insane.

He pulled his phone out. Still no reception, even out here. He held it up experimentally, but instead of making any improvement, the screen flickered and then jumped.

Jason sat up from his lazy lounge in alarm, taking a closer look, but whatever the glitch had been it seemed fine now. Experimentally, he held the phone up again – but this time _he _was the one who jumped, because there was a face staring at him from the library window.

Dick. It was just Dick. Jason reminded himself to breathe and raised a hand to greet him, but he was gone already. Jason hurried inside and back through the gallery, hoping to catch him before he ran off and hid himself somewhere – he'd gotten the distinct impression that Dick was a little skittish – and practically mowed him down in the hallway.

"Sorry!" Jason said, pulling up short. "I just thought— I saw you watching me and thought I'd come see what you were up to." Dick was wearing a tank top and loose drawstring pants. He looked like he'd been working out. Jason hadn't come across a gym yet, though.

"Alfred sent me to see if you wanted lunch," Dick said, looking at Jason curiously. "What were you doing?"

"Just exploring. It's nice out, maybe I'll check out the grounds after lunch. Unless you guys need me for something?" He tried not to sound hopeful.

"Be careful out there," Dick said. "The grounds aren't well kept further from the house." He turned and led the way back to the kitchens.

"Sure," Jason said. "Want to come with?"

Dick looked back over his shoulder at him, assessing. He seemed to be giving the question much more thought than it merited. "No," he said finally. "I shouldn't."

"Why shouldn't you?"

Dick didn't answer, though, and Alfred was waiting for them in the kitchen, slicing a tomato. "Sandwiches, young sirs," he announced when they walked in. "Assemble as you like."

He had a spread of turkey, corned beef, pastrami, and cold chicken to choose from, as well as fresh lettuce; sliced cheddar, provolone, and Swiss cheese; and a small army of mayonnaises and mustards and butters and pickles. At least there was only one variety of bread on offer, but the fluffy, lightly crusted sandwich rolls weren't exactly Wonder Bread. Jason hadn't thought sandwiches could be lavish, but, well, you learned something new every day.

"Say, Alf," Jason said, earning a slightly scandalized but entirely delighted look from Dick and a raised eyebrow from the butler. "You guys got internet access around here? Or, like, a phone line?"

"Ah," Alfred said. "I'm afraid the internet has not breached these walls. But if you need to make a phone call, there is a line in the parlor and in the office on the second floor."

"I didn't see one in the parlor," Jason said.

"It's hidden in a cupboard," Dick said. "Like in old movies. Alfred thinks phones are unsightly."

"They simply did not consider places to put _telephones_ when most of this furniture was made," Alfred sniffed, delicately layering corned beef onto his sandwich roll.

"Well, would you mind if I made a long-distance call?" Jason asked.

"Who are—" Dick started, but then seemed to check himself. He focused on cutting a perfect tomato slice instead of finishing his sentence.

"Talia," Jason answered anyway. "She'll probably want to know I made it here alive."

"Of course," Alfred said. "It's no problem, any time you like. Master Dick can show you where the office is upstairs after lunch. It's a little more private."

Dick looked up quickly, then from Alfred to Jason. "Uh, sure," he said. "Yeah, I can do that."

Dick was quiet throughout the rest of their informal meal, though Alfred was an excellent conversationalist. Several times, Dick started to chime in, but then stopped himself, abbreviating his commentary to bland, opaque statements while moving his food around on his plate without seeming to actually put any of it in his mouth. By the end of lunch, Jason was thoroughly confused.

When they'd eaten, Alfred made another sandwich to take up to Bruce, but Dick took the tray from him. "Let me do it?" he asked.

"Of course, Master Dick," Alfred said. "Don't spill."

"I never spill," Dick said with a cocky grin that looked more at home on his face than anything Jason had seen so far.

Jason helped Alfred seal up the leftovers and clean up. "So," Jason said. "There's a guy my age named Dick living here."

"Ah, yes. My apologies for not explaining that. It's just, he wasn't particularly enthused to hear about your visit – no offense meant, he just doesn't take to strangers. He's quite shy."

Jason frowned. Dick didn't seem shy, not exactly. He seemed like someone had told him he should be shy, and he had learned how. Like he was always pulling himself back from what he _wanted_ to say and do. "I don't think he likes me much. And our rooms are right across from each other, too. What was his plan, hide for however long I'm here?"

"If Master Dick wanted to do that, I have every confidence in his ability," Alfred said, sounding resigned. Jason guessed there had been many very long games of hide and seek in Dick's childhood – whether or not Alfred had agreed to play. "But I think he likes you."

"Well, I'm very likable," Jason said, sounding not at all certain. Alfred patted him on the shoulder.

"He'll come around."

"I don't have to stay," Jason said. "If it's a problem. Seriously, I don't even know what I'm doing here."

Alfred sighed. "What would you say if I told you that you were here to help Master Bruce… connect."

"With what? The world? Dick? Past lives, inner demons, Mother Nature? What could any of that have to do with me?"

"I can't entirely say for certain. But the fact that Master Bruce invited you is a very good sign."

_Sure,_ Jason thought. _But for who?_  


While Jason waited for Dick to reappear after taking Bruce his lunch, he kept up his explorations. He had a good feel for the ground floor now (he'd discovered the ways out to the pool, one through a workout room that he guessed was where Dick had been before lunch, and the other through a game room) and progressed to the second floor, which seemed to consist mostly of spare bedrooms.

Bruce's rooms were on the third floor, and it didn't seem like Dick would be coming back down any time soon. Jason occupied his mind by coming up with increasingly dramatic explanations for his own presence at the manor: Talia and Bruce had secretly arranged his marriage to Dick; Bruce was blackmailing Talia for something and Jason was an unwitting hostage; Jason had hit his head and was actually in a coma and this entire trip was a waking dream.

He stopped at his room and picked up his book. He was going to carry one everywhere, now, he decided. The manor was too big to go running back to his room every time he found a nice reading spot.

He found the office without Dick's help, and the telephone. He panicked a little when he saw the rotary dial, but the connection was clear enough.

"Head Foundation," said a male voice Jason recognized as Talia's personal assistant. Right. The caller ID probably wouldn't register him so he wouldn't be routed straight to her phone as usual.

"Hey Dennis. It's Jason."

"Ah. You're not calling from your usual phone."

"Yeah. But the sun's shining on the Appian Way."

"Pleased to hear it. There are reports that the rain will be coming soon to Versailles. I'll transfer you."

It was, Jason reflected, perhaps a little unusual to have to use passphrases to verify your identity and safety before you could talk to your adopted mother, but Jason had never been under the impression that Talia was in any way _normal_.

"Jason, darling. I had begun to worry."

"Turns out there is zero cell phone reception and no wifi in stately Wayne Manor," Jason said. "I'm calling you from a landline in the house."

"Truly a wilderness. Shall I send technicians?"

"I seriously doubt they'd appreciate that here. Is my stuff on the way?"

"If it isn't there yet it should be shortly. Will you be staying, then?"

"Yeaahh," Jason said slowly, dragging out the word. "Talia, Bruce is… weird. Hell, the whole house is weird. But I said I'd stay a while, so I guess I will."

"You don't have to, Jason."

"But you want me to." Her silence was answer enough. "I'll give it a week. Don't expect regular check-ins, though."

"Don't worry about that. We can chat thoroughly when you return. I'm sure you are perfectly safe there."

"I may die of boredom."

"Give Bruce my regards."

"Sure. Hey." Jason glanced at the office door to make sure it was still shut tight. "Did you know he had a kid?"

"I beg your— oh. The Grayson boy."

"Maybe? Looks about my age. Dick."

"A charity case, a circus orphan or some such," Talia said. She was using the tone of voice she used when something was beneath her notice, but she'd noticed it anyway and was annoyed by it. "I did not expect him to still be there. The last I heard they were on poor terms."

"They seem okay. Ish. I thought… well, I don't know. Look, Talia, you know Bruce, right? Why did he ask me to come here?"

"No one _really_ knows Bruce Wayne, Jason. I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea. But as you said, give it a week, then let me know what your thoughts are."

"Well, I guess if you wanted I could head out into the city a few times to give you updates," Jason suggested, the reality of an entire week wandering these lonely halls sinking in. Or maybe looming.

Talia was quiet for a long moment. "If you do, be careful. Gotham has a reputation."

Jason frowned. He knew Gotham's reputation. Hell, he'd lived it: a gleaming beacon of wealth and decadence until you scratched the surface just a little and found all the people trampled into the gutters. Corrupt police, corrupt politicians. Smiling, glittering socialites and millionaires above; gutter trash dying, suffering, and vanishing below – and no, most of them did _not _vanish because they'd been adopted by philanthropic foreigners. "Of course," he said.

"Don't be shy about using my name if you need to."

"Jesus, Talia, I'm not going to go knocking on the mob's door."

Talia made an indelicate noise. "It's not the mob I'm worried about. I _know_ the mob. They are gentlemen. Gotham is not a city for gentlemen."

"Dramatic, much," Jason muttered, as though he hadn't just spent hours roaming an ancient mansion and imagining himself in the role of several Gothic heroines.

"Better dramatic than sorry. I must go, my love. Enjoy your stay."

Jason hung up the phone and sighed. He didn't feel particularly better about the whole situation, but at least he had an end date now. A week, and then reassess. It wasn't exactly a hardship; he'd hang out by the pool and in the library and then in seven days call Talia and tell her he had no idea what to make of it, but Bruce was just as eccentric as everyone said and Jason would be on his way now, thanks.

Dick didn't appear for the rest of the evening. Jason found the laundry room (good to know), a few extra bathrooms, an elevator, and a large balcony on the second floor that looked down on the ballroom skylight. He considered poking his head up to the third floor, but, standing at the foot of the dark, cramped staircase, decided to leave something for his other days here. The rest of the day he passed in the library and the game room, taking note of interesting books for later and practicing trick shots on the billiards table.

The rain came late into the night, harsh and driving against the house. The sound of it on the windows roused Jason just enough that waking and dreaming crashed together, and he wasn't at all certain whether what followed belonged to one or the other.

There was a figure standing at the window across the room, outlined in eerie light.

Jason blinked muzzily, sure he had closed the curtains for the night. His eyes adjusted and he could see that the person standing there was Dick. He looked both older and younger, familiar and completely alien. As Jason sat up, Dick turned to him and Jason could see he looked angry, too, angry enough that Jason reconsidered leaving the bed.

"Dick?" he asked.

Dick didn't seem to hear him. He crossed his arms and said something, but Jason couldn't hear it. And then Dick was _shouting_, gesturing at the room around him with a slash of his arm, but there was still no actual sound coming out of his mouth. The words Jason couldn't hear seemed to be directed at someone who wasn't there, Dick's eyes focused just a little to the left of Jason's bed.

Then Dick shook his head harshly and strode toward the bedroom door.

He vanished just as he was about to walk right into it, and lightning stabbed through the small crack in the curtains that were once again closed.

Jason stared. Then, slowly, he pinched himself, because it was the only thing he could think to do. It didn't seem to make a difference. He scooted to the edge of the bed, but just as his feet touched the floor, lightning burst again, and the brief instant of light revealed things that made no sense: a battered pair of sneakers toppled over each other near the dresser, a hoodie thrown over the armchair, a few papers drifting off the cluttered writing desk despite the utter stillness of the room.

None of it was Jason's and none of it had been there a second ago. Jason lunged for the bedside lamp and dragged down the chain that would turn it on.

The room snapped back to normal, tidy and impersonal.

Jason's heart wouldn't settle in his chest and he could smell electricity on the air. The lightning must have been close. Gingerly, he got out of bed, feeling oddly vulnerable about his bare feet, and crept across the room. He nudged the curtains open just slightly and put his eye to the opening.

Nothing seemed to be on fire. He couldn't make out much at all, in fact. He made sure the curtains were firmly closed, then went back to bed and shoved his chilly feet under the covers. If this was a dream, he'd appreciate waking up about now, or maybe experiencing some _pleasant_ dream activity, like flying or something.

Seconds ticked by and nothing changed, and Jason started to think maybe he had been dreaming after all and had simply woken up in the middle of it. He hunkered down a little further into the bed, bit by bit, until he was horizontal again, and glared at the room, daring anything weird to happen, until his eyes finally closed of their own accord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to share all your theories - some of you already have and it's delightful - but know that I will neither confirm nor deny anything! I shall answer them all with an enigmatic :) so as to avoid spoilers lol


	3. Chapter 3

Jason woke what felt like seconds later, the bedside lamp still on but now competing with Gotham's grey morning light edging in around the curtains. He groaned and rolled over, checking the time. 7 AM. When had the storm woken him? Or— _had_ the storm woken him? Yes, it must have, because here was the lamp turned on. And now, with daylight prying its way into the room, it seemed obvious that his strange dream had shocked him awake last night; that he had turned on the lamp just as he'd woken fully from it and had then promptly fallen back asleep.

He clicked the lamp off and started his day in what was becoming the traditional way: flinging open the curtains of both windows.

The storm had been wild, by the look of things. There were branches on the roof of the garage, and out of the other window Jason could see that the patio around the pool was still damp and covered with leaves and sticks. The pool would probably need to be—

Empty. The pool was empty.

Jason squeezed his eyes closed and opened them again, tilted his head like that would make him see things differently, but the pool was just a rectangular hole in the concrete, a few murky puddles at the bottom. A storm couldn't have done that, surely not.

He almost closed the curtains again to block his view of it, but shook his head. There was an explanation for this; maintenance or something. It was 7 AM on a Sunday, sure, but when you had more money than God, you could get pool workers out at whatever hour you chose, couldn't you?

He dressed in his last set of clean clothes and headed downstairs, just in time to catch Alfred leaving the kitchen with Bruce's breakfast. The food was simple – fresh fruit and toast with coffee – but Alfred needed an entire cart to transport it due to the dozen newspapers that seemed to go along with it.

"Good morning, Mas— Mr. Todd," Alfred said, wheeling it all into the elevator.

"Jason, Alfred!" Jason insisted. Alfred just gave him a small smile as the elevator doors slid closed.

Jason sighed and proceeded to his own breakfast. He was still a tad off-kilter from what had apparently been a restless night and a slightly odd morning, so he decided a little project was exactly what he needed. French toast this morning, he thought, pawing through the kitchen supplies. Maybe with an orange glaze and some of that fruit he'd seen Alfred with.

He made enough for both Alfred and Dick because he found the process calming and didn't really want to stop once he'd started. Alfred returned and gave a minuscule pause when he saw what Jason was up to, but after examining the whole operation granted it a tiny nod of approval that warmed Jason right down to his still slipper-less toes.

"I made enough for two," Jason said, shoving a plate toward Alfred.

"You have made enough for a small army," Alfred corrected. "Allow me to assist you in cleaning up."

Jason shrugged and they tidied away the griddle and mixing bowls into the sink and quickly swiped up any scattered sugar or egg splatters that had escaped the assembly line, then sat at the island to eat.

"Hey Alfred, about the pool," Jason started.

"Mm, in rather a state of disrepair, I am sorry to say."

"Really? Did the storm damage it or something?"

Alfred looked at him oddly. "Last night's storm? I shouldn't think so. There was some structural decay several years ago and we had it emptied. Since no one was using it, it didn't seem worthwhile to repair and maintain. It's been covered since then."

"What? Are you sure?" Jason asked, though he knew it was a stupid question.

"Why, yes. Whatever is troubling you about it?"

"It's just… look, wasn't the pool full yesterday? I _know_ I saw water in there. Like, pure blue sparkling water."

"Oh dear," Alfred said, looking quite distressed, his French toast abandoned for the moment. "Perhaps the heat? It can play tricks on one's eyes. Or— maybe you simply glanced and saw the cover we have over it? It is quite blue. If the storm has blown it off in the night, I shall have to retrieve it."

Jason was shaking his head. "I don't think it was a cover. I could swear… I mean, I didn't even see a cover anywhere nearby when I looked this morning, and it couldn't have gone that far, could it?"

"I do hope not, but don't worry about that for the moment. Are you feeling all right? Have you been sleeping well?"

"Funny you should mention that," Jason muttered, but Alfred heard it.

"I understand this all may be somewhat overwhelming and strange. A long journey, an old and mysterious house, and heaven knows Master Bruce can be a shade intimidating. Perhaps a bit of a lie down? I'm afraid we are all quite familiar with sleepless nights around here."

"No," Jason said decisively. "I'm going to go find that pool cover."

It was on the ballroom's skylight. Jason looked down on it from the large second-floor balcony on the back of the house and wondered whether the skylight would hold his weight if he tried to climb out and retrieve the cover. It certainly was blue, as promised, but there was no way he'd mistaken it for water.

Sourly, he added_ I've gone mad and this is a posh asylum Talia's shipped me to for my own safety_ to his list of Dramatic Explanations for Jason Todd's Presence in Wayne Manor.

"You should let Alfred take care of it," Dick said, and Jason started. He was glad he'd been holding the balcony rail, because he definitely had not heard Dick come out here, or get this close to him.

"Alfred's older than both of us combined, and then some," Jason said. "I'm not going to make him climb out there and get it."

"I meant let him call someone to handle it. We can make ourselves scarce until they're gone," he added, as though that was an enticement.

"Yeah, you're good at that, aren't you?" Jason said.

Dick had the grace to look a little ashamed. "Sorry about yesterday. I just sort of lost track of time."

"Look, Dick, you don't have to like me. I'm sorry I'm invading your space. You can avoid me the whole time I'm here if you want, I don't care, but if you don't want anything to do with me don't _pretend_," Jason said.

Dick looked thoughtful, but didn't respond.

Jason crossed his arms. "Well?"

"I'll let Alfred know where the pool cover got to. He'll call someone. I don't think you should go crawling around on that skylight."

Jason sighed. "Whatever. I need some air," he said, ignoring the fact that he was currently on a balcony. Dick stood aside as he passed.

Today would be the day he explored the grounds, Jason decided. Yes, they were probably wet and muddy from the rain last night, but he had good boots and his remaining luggage should be arriving any moment now so he wasn't too concerned about dampness.

He stood on the back patio and looked out at a wide, grassy expanse. The lawn was well kept, but soon gave way to stands of trees. Off to the left were more formal gardens and a small greenhouse. Jason started there.

A crushed stone path wended its way under arbors and through plots given over mostly to plants that could fend for themselves without too much upkeep. It was clear that with proper staffing this garden could be glorious, but currently it was a little overgrown and slightly wild.

Toward the back, an enthusiastic spray of poppies gave way to a rose garden. The bushes had grown rather tall, some of them reaching right onto the path. The few blossoms that peeked through the tangle were a very subdued yellow, looking almost like the pages of old books. Jason stepped through them gingerly.

The path he'd taken came out the back of the garden, passing through a gap in a thick hedge of shrubs bearing pale pink flowers with yellow centers that Jason couldn't name. Beyond the garden, a few snowdrops had escaped to sprout up randomly in the grass. The ground dropped away slightly here, leading to the clusters of oaks and elms he had seen from the patio. Jason thought he heard water flowing and followed the sound into the trees, which thickened from a copse to something approaching a forest a little further in.

His search for the water source brought him to an honest-to-goodness folly. It was a small, circular building with a domed roof, ringed around by columns. The few short steps leading up to a sealed door had half fallen away. At first Jason thought it was a mausoleum, but closer inspection proved that it had been designed to look old, rather than actually being old. The crumbling stairs were definitely _artfully_ crumbling and had likely been thus since it was built, and the door wasn't so much sealed as it was fake.

The stream Jason had heard flowed past just beyond the folly, and there was a small bridge – equally quaint and impractical, since you could basically step over the stream with a little effort – crossing it.

Jason circled the building, not quite believing that he was actually personally experiencing this pinnacle of frivolous spending. He'd read about follies. Whoever had named them had been right. He brushed his fingers over the deliberately roughened stone as he circled, feeling the places the plaster had been scrubbed away to reveal fake bricks underneath. Then he paused, frowning, and pressed his hand against it a little more firmly.

The folly was _humming_, vibrating ever so slightly. Jason pressed an ear to the wall but didn't hear anything beyond that barely perceptible vibration. He backed away from it, trying to get more of it into his vision at once. Was it actually functional? A clever way to disguise a back-up generator, perhaps, or—

Jason stumbled, his heel slipping in the muddy bank of the stream he hadn't realized he was backing into. His arms windmilled and he almost fell when a hand caught his arm and shoved him back upright.

"Jesus, Dick, how do you do that— oh." It wasn't Dick.

"Uh, sorry?" asked the young man who'd leaned over the rail of the bridge to steady him.

"Sorry," Jason echoed. "I thought you were someone else." He had the black hair and blue eyes, but the blue was darker, his features more delicate, and he looked like he was probably a few years younger than Jason. He had a heavy-looking camera around his neck.

"I'm Tim," Tim said, stepping off the bridge and sticking out a hand. Jason shook it obligingly.

"Jason," he said. "Uh, not to be rude, but you don't, like, secretly live here, do you?"

"Me? Oh, no," Tim said. "I'm the neighbor. Tim Drake. Mansion next door." He gestured off to the side, but there was nothing but trees as far as Jason could see. He must have looked dubious because Tim hurried on, "The properties adjoin. There's a wall marking the boundaries somewhere over there, but it's mostly holes now. No one seems to mind if I wander around."

"Uh huh. Sure you're not paparazzi or something?"

"Huh? Oh, the camera. Nature photographer," Tim said with a little laugh. "Look." He pulled the camera off and handed it over screen-first to Jason so he could flick through the photos. Jason found pictures of the sun through the trees, a cardinal just as it burst into flight, a bee snacking on wildflowers.

"Hey, these are pretty good," Jason said. "Is that another folly? I haven't found that one yet." He peered at the screen. "I like what you did with the lighting."

"Oh, it's nothing. A hobby," Tim said, though he couldn't hide a small, pleased smile when he took the camera back. "But, um, what about you?"

"Just a bored guest out exploring," Jason said, amused that Tim was apparently too polite to outright say _Who the heck are you?_

"A guest? Of Mr. Wayne?" Tim asked.

"I know. Unheard of. But here I am." Jason shrugged.

"You're— you're not staying in the manor, are you?"

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Maybe. Why?"

"Oh, no, it's just. Um. Are you… okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Tim frowned and grabbed Jason's arm, drawing him back a little further into the trees. Jason let him, amused. "Bruce Wayne is a little odd," he said in a hushed voice.

Jason burst out laughing, startling both Tim and a few birds in the trees above them. "You don't say."

Tim reddened a little. "Forget I said anything. Sorry."

"No, it's fine. I know he's a little odd. You don't have to whisper. I seriously doubt either he or Dick has left the house in about five millenia."

"Dick?" Tim asked. "Dick _Grayson_?"

"That's the one," Jason said.

"Oh. He— oh."

"You all right there, Tim?" If Jason didn't know better – and he reminded himself that he didn't, not here – he'd say Tim was scared of something.

"Yeah, of course," Tim said with a shake of his head. "Never mind. Hey, do you want me to show you around the grounds? I never have any company around here."

"Sure, if you're offering," Jason said. "I wouldn't mind the company myself." There was something Tim wasn't saying, he was certain of it. And if he was so squirrely about the manor and its occupants, what was he doing happily wandering its grounds? Jason intended to find out.

Agreeing to come with earned him another small smile, and Tim led him further from the house. He showed Jason the way to the folly he'd seen in Tim's picture, this one shaped like a miniature tower, also in an artful state of decay. They eventually found the wall delineating the Drake-Wayne properties. It looked like Hadrian might have built it as a practice round. Jason peered through one of the gaps, but Tim informed him the Drake mansion was a bit downhill and to the left, so not visible from where they were.

Tim was easy to talk to, something Jason didn't realize how much he'd missed over the past few days. He didn't cut off his own sentences with secretive pauses, or make cryptic statements. He talked about the state of Gotham, was pleased and interested to hear Jason had lived there until he was thirteen, and had a surprisingly reasonable view, for a rich kid, on what needed to be done to improve the city.

Jason put Tim around nineteen or twenty, based on his mentions of college classes. He wanted to know all about Jason's somewhat unorthodox global education. Before either of them knew it, hours had passed and the sun was inching past its zenith.

"I'm gonna head back," Jason said. "But thanks for showing me around."

"Yeah, no problem," Tim said. "Can you find your way?"

"I have a good sense of direction. See you around, Timmy!"

"Yeah. See you," Tim said, raising a hand in farewell.

Jason had been walking only a minute or so when he heard rapid footfalls behind him.

"Wait," Tim said, catching at his sleeve. "I just— you'll probably think I'm crazy, but I can't not say something."

"O…kay? About what?" Jason asked, nonplussed.

"It's just. Okay, look. Mr. Wayne invited me over when I was fourteen, a few years after my parents died."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jason said, meaning it.

"That's not the point," Tim said. Jason raised his eyebrows. "I mean, it was years ago, I'm— fine. But he said he had known them, wanted to talk about them with me, so of course I went, you know?"

Jason nodded. He knew.

"Well, the point is, I almost didn't make it back out."

"You… what? Like, they tried to keep you or something?" Jason asked, not sure if he should be laughing.

"It's hard to explain without sounding really dramatic. Or crazy. But something is seriously not right in that house. You should… I don't know, just be careful, all right?"

"All right," Jason said slowly, not sure what else to say.

Tim sighed. "I know you'll still go back, but I'm just saying, keep your eyes open."

Jason wanted to dismiss him out of hand, but, well, he wasn't entirely wrong. Maybe a little paranoid, but Jason couldn't exactly argue it was a perfectly normal household, could he. But Jason could take care of himself. Maybe he'd even have something interesting to tell Talia, after all. "Sure," he said. "Thanks for the heads up."

Tim blinked at him, like he was surprised at Jason's reaction. "Okay. Well. I don't know how long you're here, but if you ever need to get away I'm usually at the penthouse in the city. You can stop by whenever. Let me give you my number?"

"Okay, but don't expect me to text back or anything. Zero reception around here."

"I've noticed," Tim said wryly. "Oddly enough, we don't have that problem at my place." He raised his hands at Jason's look. "Just saying. Here."

They traded numbers and parted ways, Jason turning over the odd conversation in his mind all the way back.

Jason found lunch, and he found Alfred, which were the exact two things he was looking for.

"Mr. Todd. I trust you enjoyed your constitutional?" Alfred asked, coming into the kitchen where Jason was eating a sandwich. Jason didn't miss how his eyes went to Jason's jeans, wet through the ankles thanks to his roaming about in unmowed grass the day after a storm. At least Jason had taken his boots off when he'd come in so he wasn't tracking water and dirt everywhere.

"Yeah. Met the neighbors."

Alfred's eyebrow went up. "Neighbors?"

"The Drake kid?"

"Ah. Young Timothy," Alfred said. Jason was starting to get better at speaking butler; Alfred's tone was perfectly neutral which meant he had opinions about Tim he didn't want to share.

"Nice kid. Photographer." Jason took a bite, watching Alfred as he bustled about, putting away the tray he'd clearly just brought back down from Bruce's quarters.

"Is he?" Alfred asked, casually disinterested.

"You guys just let him roam the grounds here?"

Alfred sighed and dusted off his hands after tucking away the tray and giving the countertops a cursory swipe for stray crumbs. "He is quite welcome here any time he should wish to visit, yes. I'm afraid that boy works far too hard and is rather lonely."

Jason hummed his interest, trying to figure out how far he wanted to poke at this. _Say, you didn't lure him in with tea and then try to keep him, did you_? seemed a little blunt. Before he could ask anything at all, though, Dick's voice, bright and energetic, floated into the kitchen from across the hall.

"Hey, Alfred! You ready for— oh," Dick said, stopping abruptly as he walked into the kitchen and spotted Jason. Dick was dressed in comfortable-looking workout clothes again, a tank top and the sort of loose warm-up pants that could be pulled over shorts. He looked like he'd been working out, too, his hair a mess and a very slight patina of sweat around his temples. "I didn't know you'd come back," he said to Jason, his voice suddenly much quieter, subdued.

Jason turned back to his sandwich and finished it off. "Yeah. Not rid of me just yet," he said.

"I'm— going to go shower," Dick said.

"Don't worry, I'm just about done here. You can eat," Jason said, and he was a little proud of himself for actually managing to sound _nice_ about it instead of annoyed.

"No, that's not— I didn't mean— I just. Should."

"It's true. I was just about to remind him of my policy regarding individuals I can _smell_ in my kitchen," Alfred said.

"Exactly," Dick said. "So." And he left.

"He hates me," Jason told his empty plate.

"He does not," Alfred said, but didn't offer any supporting evidence so Jason supposed that must just be what butlers had to say to reassure troubled guests.

Jason's luggage still hadn't arrived. He wasn't sure if it was at the point where he should be worried about it, and wished for an internet connection one more time so he could check the tracking number. He'd give it until tomorrow afternoon, he decided, and if it wasn't here yet he'd call the shipping company. He was pretty sure he had an emailed receipt with their number on it stored in his phone.

He headed to the small gym himself later and found all the equipment to be in pristine condition. Dick might walk into Alfred's kitchen sweaty, but he clearly didn't leave the machines in such a state. The gym had a treadmill, a few varieties of weight machines, free weights, a rowing machine, and a stationary bike. It was exactly the sort of equipment someone might need to be in magazine-cover condition, but Jason wondered why either Bruce or Dick bothered. Probably it was just that there was nothing else to do.

Jason wasn't much for the dull routine of gym workouts himself: he preferred practicing practical defense skills with a partner, or sparring, or hiking, or bouldering, or kayaking – anything where he was actually doing something and getting somewhere rather than just sitting and repeating an action over and over. But even that was starting to look appealing now.

He set up the leg press machine, noting with just a little satisfaction that he had to move the pin down from where it'd been left by whoever had used it last.

He'd brought his book with him and idly turned pages as he worked out. Every once in a while laughter floated down the hallway. The first time, Jason had paused, listening. But he hadn't been able to hear anything else. It was probably just Dick being vibrant and cheerful and _normal_, and if Jason poked his head out into the hall, he'd stop.

The weights clattered down as he put a little bit of his annoyance into the rep, but just the once. He should probably move on to arms, anyway, the way he'd been walking all over the grounds earlier.

Jason went to bed that night pleasantly tired. He woke only briefly in the middle of the night to distant voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying over the odd rushing in his ears, so he went back to sleep and had forgotten it by morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra update - happy birthday, elwon!

The following morning, Jason ran into Alfred as he was coming down from the third floor.

"Good morning, sir," Alfred said. "I trust you slept well?"

"Fine, thanks," Jason said. He was about to ask if Alfred had done the same when he caught a sudden snatch of voices drifting down the hall. Voices, plural, when Alfred had clearly just delivered breakfast to Bruce upstairs. One of them might be Dick, though it was hard to tell; they were slightly distorted with echo, like maybe they were coming from the foyer. "Who's that?" Jason asked.

"Hm?" Alfred asked. He'd already been turning to continue down the back stairs.

"Those voices. I thought Bruce was upstairs."

"Voices?" Alfred paused, listening. Jason listened too, but the conversation seemed to have dwindled to a low murmur and he couldn't make out any words. "Ah," Alfred said. "These old houses. They make the strangest sounds." He chuckled and inclined his head to Jason in farewell and continued down the stairs.

Jason frowned and jogged down the hallway to where it opened up to overlook the foyer. There was no one there, and no sound either now. Jason padded down the main staircase, looking around curiously, ears pricked for anything out of the ordinary.

_Click_.

Jason nearly jumped out of his skin, but his brain quickly informed him that that had been the door to the parlor latching in the catch plate. He vaulted down the rest of the stairs and yanked open the door.

The stolid furniture greeted him in silence. Jason prowled around the room slowly, but it was definitely empty. He circled back to the door to the foyer, still standing ajar from his entrance. He gave it a nudge and it swung nearly shut, but didn't catch. He had to push it and turn the knob slightly for it to click into place.

A hand settled on his shoulder. Jason spun from his puzzled contemplation of the door – but the room was still empty. The odd rushing noise was back though, like there was a very distant waterfall Jason could hear through an open window.

"Hello?" he hazarded. The rushing stopped, and no voice answered.

Unnerved, Jason backed out of the parlor and pulled the door closed behind him. He found himself pushing through the front door, bursting onto the porch with a gasp, like he'd been drowning. He leaned against the door to close it and tipped his head back to look at the cloudy sky.

He'd imagined someone tapping his shoulder. He had to have. There was just _no way_ someone had actually touched him in an empty room. It was like those phantom vibrations, where you thought your phone had vibrated but it was really just your brain misinterpreting your own clothes brushing against your skin or something.

At that thought, Jason pulled out his phone, mainly out of habit but also out of some bizarre modern desire for comfort. He wasn't really expecting to see any notifications in this signal-swallowing black hole of a house, he just wanted the familiarity of the ritual of checking.

He definitely was expecting the screen to at least turn on, though. When it didn't, he held down the power button, wondering if he'd accidentally turned it off.

A mournful empty battery icon flashed at him once and vanished. Jason groaned. He must have forgotten to plug it in last night, and constantly searching for signal was always battery-draining. He turned to go back in and grab a charger – then changed his mind and circled the house, entering through the back patio doors instead. He went up to his room using the servants' stairs, plugged the phone in, and then tried to figure out how to get down to the library without taking the main staircase.

Jason passed the morning in the library, sitting in a patch of sunlight reading decidedly un-scary fiction (_Coraline_ had probably not helped matters) and feeling more and more foolish about getting spooked by an old house. It really _did _make a lot of settling sounds. The first few times a window casement creaked while he was sitting and reading, Jason nearly jumped out of his skin. But it soon became apparent that this was, indeed, just something old houses did. He'd spooked himself.

When lunch time rolled around he didn't feel like going through the whole production of making something, but discovered that the manor was decidedly lacking in junk food or even simple food that didn't require much prep. There was nary a granola bar nor pop tart in the place for a quick calorie fix. He settled for sticking a piece of pre-sliced cheese on a hard roll and eating it on the move.

He'd been hoping for his luggage to arrive that morning, but there'd been no such luck and so he was on the hunt for Alfred to see if maybe he'd missed the delivery – and if not, what his options were. One of Jason's pairs of jeans was looking pretty bedraggled thanks to yesterday's excursion. He had a second pair, which he was currently wearing, but unless his stuff showed up soon he was going to have to start doing laundry every other day.

He found Alfred, coincidentally, in the laundry rooms on the second floor.

"No, I'm afraid your luggage is still missing in action," Alfred confirmed. He was in his shirtsleeves, formality loosened for the task of laundering the linens. "I have taken the liberty, at Master Bruce's suggestion, of leaving some spare clothing and amenities in your closet. If you should need anything else, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Do deliveries usually get delayed around here?"

"I'm afraid so," Alfred said. "GPS signals tend to get lost so if the driver doesn't already know where they're going…"

"Right," Jason said. "Great. Well, thanks. I guess I'll give them a call if it doesn't turn up today," Jason said, turning to leave and trying not to let his frustration show.

"A good plan. Oh, by the by, Master Dick was looking for you earlier."

"For me?" Jason asked, all thoughts of wayward luggage surprised out of his head. "He must not have looked hard. I was just in the library."

"Oh, yes. Why don't you seek him out and see what he wanted?"

Jason narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Alfred, who was folding a sheet with a decidedly innocent air. "All right," Jason said slowly. "Why not."

It was more likely, Jason thought, that Alfred wanted Dick and Jason to get along and so was trying to give them an excuse to talk to each other. Well, if he happened across Dick he'd give it the old college try, but he wasn't going to seek him out. He had more self-respect than that.

He went back to his room to collect his phone (now fully charged) and spent a few minutes sorting through his stored emails looking for the shipping company's number. He couldn't find it; he was going to have to call Talia, or else make a trip into Gotham just to get some cell signal and look it up. He liked the second option more.

He wandered back downstairs, deliberately taking the main stairs this time. No doors randomly closed, the house didn't settle in any way that could be mistaken for a voice, and nothing reached out to grab him.

He took a turn through the ballroom because he liked the way the sun cast shadows and light against the carved pilasters, but it was too cloudy for anything more than a dull, uniform ambient light to illuminate the room through the skylight.

The pool was visible through the ballroom's back windows. On a whim, Jason pushed through the French doors and out onto the back patio to glare at it properly. The cover was in place again. When the wind rippled it, he supposed it _could_ look like moving water. Maybe. He leaned on the little half wall surrounding the patio and tipped his head back to stare at the slate clouds.

Movement caught his eye and he straightened. Was that… someone on the roof?

Jason hopped the low wall and backed up to get a better look. Yes, someone was up there, scaling the shallower incline between two of the steeper peaks. There couldn't be two people around here who could move like that. He waited until the figure seemed to be settled before calling up.

"Dick?"

Dick looked down, and then to Jason's dismay, began sliding down the slope of the roof.

"Don't!" Jason yelled, heart in his throat. But Dick came to a controlled stop right at the ledge, which, Jason now realized, was lined with iron rails like the whole roof was one huge widow's walk.

Dick waved, then made a _come up_ gesture. Jason looked around. "How did you get up there?" he called.

"Third floor," Dick shouted back. "Take the east stairs to the sitting room, the door on the left!"

Jason considered only briefly before nodding and heading in. If Dick was trying to be social, Jason wasn't going to refuse the olive branch. East stairs, though? He hadn't known there were _west_ stairs. The stairs he'd been thinking of as the back stairs were in the east wing, though, so he took those.

He slowed a little nearing the top of them, all but poking his head around the doorway before emerging into the sitting room Dick had mentioned. Thankfully, there were no dust sheets here. The curtains were actually pulled back on tall windows, and there were a few armchairs and a low, wide couch that invited sitting. Above the fireplace, Thomas and Martha Wayne looked out benevolently at the opposite wall.

Jason did a double take, looking at the painting. He'd hardly noticed what must have been a young Bruce, framed neatly between Thomas and Martha, both with one hand on his shoulder. He was dressed all in black and looked just as serious as he did in life. While Thomas and Martha stared out at the room, young Bruce seemed to be looking directly down at Jason.

Jason shivered and quickly found the door to the left that Dick had mentioned. He was expecting maybe another narrow staircase leading up, but instead it opened into a large, unfinished room. Exposed rafters shed dust overhead while sheet-covered boxes and trunks hulked in the corners. He took a few steps into the room, peering around for a light switch.

The door slammed behind him.

Jason jumped and whirled, hand immediately grasping for the doorknob. But an instant later he realized he could still _see _the doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder to find part of the ceiling had fallen in near the edge of the room, letting in a ladder of determined sunshine.

No, wait. It was an actual ladder, or more like a very steep set of stairs. And it wasn't the ceiling that had fallen in; it was a trap door, similar to one that might be pulled down for attic access.

Dick poked his head down. "You made it. Come on up."

Jason clambered up the steps and out onto the roof. The wind immediately caught at his hair and his t-shirt, but it was a mild summer wind, hustling the clouds across the sky so that the sunshine that had streamed down into the attic was quickly occluded again. Dick was standing back watching him. "The slope is shallow enough to sit a little further up," he said.

"Is it safe?" Jason asked. Somehow he hadn't realized how very high up a three-storey house was. The iron rail along the ledge wasn't even waist height, and the pool was an alarmingly small blue rectangle below.

Dick grinned at him. "Safe as houses." He crawled up to where he'd been when Jason had called to him from the ground and Jason, gingerly, followed. They settled between the two peaks, one with a chimney jutting out of it, the other with something that looked like a very high-tech weathervane-slash-lighting rod perched at the top. If storms like the one Saturday night were a common occurrence, a lightning rod was a very good idea, Jason thought, trying to distract himself while he came to terms with being so far off the ground.

It didn't take long; it was actually a little nicer, sitting higher up like that. He couldn't see the ground directly below, just the sweeping vista that was the Wayne property. Out to the left, over the tops of trees, Jason could see the roof of another house breaking the foliage. The Drake mansion, according to where Tim had indicated it was.

Dick leaned back next to him, one knee bent, hands behind his head. "This is one of my favorite spots," he said quietly.

Jason wasn't quite ready to lie down on a slanted roof, but he did draw his knees up and rest his chin on them, arms circled round. "It's nice," he said. Maybe it was being this high up, but even the clouds seemed less, well, cloudy. He could sort of differentiate between them, watch them moving at different speeds. Gotham's omnipresent cloud cover was probably made up of different clouds every night, from the look of things.

"I want to apologize," Dick said.

"What for?" Jason asked. Most people would apologize for being standoffish, but he wanted to hear what Dick would say.

"I've been suspicious of you, and that's made me less friendly than I could be. But I wanted you to know there's a reason. I have trouble trusting new people, but Bruce says you're okay, so… I trust you."

"Hang on," Jason said. "I'm not asking for your _trust_ or anything like that. I just thought we could be friends first? Or even just roommates since we're both living here. Trust is…" _Intimate_, Jason thought. _Heavy. Something you earn._ He didn't finish his sentence. _Great, it's catching_.

"I can't live with someone I don't trust, Jason. I can't be friends with them. What do you know about me? How I came to live here?" He stared straight up at the sky the whole time he spoke. Jason watched him out of the corner of his eye.

"Not much. I know you were adopted. Talia – that's my adopted mom – mentioned the circus?"

"Have you ever heard of the Flying Graysons?"

"No, I don't— wait." He did vaguely recall something. Colorful posters, with people flying through the air. And then those same pictures reprinted in all the newspapers, splashed on every TV screen. He'd been very young, though. "Sort of. A circus act? That was you? And your parents?" he asked, remembering the general gist of the news reports with a sinking feeling.

"The best trapeze act in the world," Dick said. "That was us. Now it's just me."

Gotham had a surplus of orphans. Jason kept meeting the ones that had landed on their feet. "I'm sorry," he said, meaning it no less than when he'd said it yesterday.

"Thanks. Their deaths weren't an accident." He turned to look directly at Jason. "I was next on the list. Bruce saved me. But the people responsible are still out there, looking for me."

Jason surreptitiously looked over his shoulder to make sure he didn't have a sign on his back that said _I love conspiracy theories, tell me yours!_ or something similar. "There are… hit men out there looking for you? After all these years?" Jason wasn't sure exactly how long Dick had been with Bruce, but it had to be over fifteen years, if his memory of when he'd seen the Flying Graysons stuff was accurate.

"Not assassins." Dick shook his head. "Owls."

"Owls."

"They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed_,_" Dick murmured. "Speak not a whispered word of them or_—_"

"They'll send the Talon for your head," Jason finished, prickles climbing down his spine and back up. "I know the rhyme."

"It's not just a story."

"Parents use it to scare their kids into behaving," Jason said. "It's just a— like a scary Santa Claus deal. They see you when you're sleeping, they know when you're awake, that kind of thing."

"No, it's real," Dick said, sounding resigned. "But I'm safe here, so I stay here. They're powerful, Jason, and someone like you—" Dick rolled onto his side, propped his head up with his hand to stare up at Jason. "You're exactly the kind of person they'd send."

"Me?" Jason said. "Come on, Dick. I might be from Gotham, but not the shiny side that has any sort of influence."

"Gotham can twist things." Dick shifted to sit up next to Jason. "But Bruce has never lied to me, and he's never been wrong."

Jason frowned. "Dick, how do you _know_ there are people after you? Don't get mad," he said when Dick scowled at him. "I mean, I'm sure he told you what he thinks the truth is. But Bruce—"

"Don't say it," Dick said with a shake of his head. "Bruce is _good_. I don't deserve everything he's done."

"Are you kidding me? It looks like everything he's done is to give you a severe case of agoraphobia. Hey," Jason said, seizing on an idea. "Come out into the city with me. We'll go just the two of us and explore. I haven't been back since I was a kid, we can—"

"No," Dick said. "I can't."

"You _can_. We can—"

"You don't understand," Dick said. "I did! Once. I— I disobeyed, and I went out, and they _almost got me_."

Jason stared at him. "What?"

Dick took a deep, steadying breath. "I was eighteen. I thought I knew better. Bruce and I were fighting all the time, and this place— well, you've seen what it's like. So I took off, into the city. And she came for me. The Talon. I'll never forget it. Skin like bone, but you could see her veins like cracks. Gold eyes. She never blinked. I never knew what hit me. And then she was dragging me across the rooftops."

"Let me guess," Jason said, trying to keep the sarcasm in his voice down but not entirely succeeding. "Bruce saved you."

"No," Dick said. "He didn't even realize I was gone. The Hawk saved me, but I didn't know that's who it was at the time."

"The… Hawk."

"Gotham's masked avenger," Dick said, the side of his mouth ticking up just slightly. "Honestly, I thought one of the city's gargoyles had come to life to rescue me. Whoever it is, they dropped out of nowhere, right on top of the Talon. They saved my life, gave me time to run. I came right back home." Dick sighed. "Bruce was _so _mad. I'd never been scared of him before, not ever, but that night…" Dick trailed off, eyes fixed on the distant landscape.

"That night?" Jason prompted.

Dick shrugged. "I promised never to leave again. And I haven't. But he vanished after that, for… a while. I lost track of time, I guess. Nothing ever changes around here. But he came back, and he said he was sorry, and he never left again either. So here we are."

"Here we are," Jason echoed.

They sat in silence for a time, Dick seemingly content just to stare at the sky. But the silence was pressing on Jason. This wasn't _right_.

"I'm going into Gotham tomorrow," he announced.

Dick frowned at him. "I told you, I'm not—"

"I'm not asking you to come with me," Jason said. "But do you want me to bring you anything? Surely there's something from the outside world you miss."

Dick's eyes flicked up toward the sky and to the ledge of the roof before meeting Jason's again. "Nothing you could bring back." He stood so abruptly Jason nearly made a grab for him, certain he was going to go tumbling down the incline.

Dick grinned down at him. "Relax," he said. "Graysons don't fall." His smile faded a little. "Not without help." With that, he slid down the roof just as he had when Jason had called up to him from the ground and disappeared through the trap door.

Jason stayed on the roof a little while longer, thinking.

Jason didn't see anyone for the rest of the day. He went back to his room as soon as the sun went down, the manor feeling particularly cavernous and empty in the dark. He'd acquired a pile of books from the library and planned to sit and read by lamplight and pretend he was in one of his dorm rooms. He'd had plenty of experience adjusting to new environments around the world, but this…

Maybe it was worse because Gotham should have felt like home. But then again, he wasn't really in Gotham, was he? Not properly.

Jason eyed the rumpled clothes he'd draped over the armchair after changing into his pajamas (at nine PM! He wasn't sure if this felt decadent or pathetic.) His jeans definitely needed a break. He peeked into the closet, curious as to what Alfred had left him.

A lot, was the answer. An entire wall was now full of hanging clothes. Jason ran his hand down them, making the hangers clatter, and found t-shirts, polo shirts, dress shirts, all in about a million shades of blue. Jeans, dress slacks… where had all of this come from? He turned to examine the shoe cubbies on the opposite wall, hoping for slippers, and nearly choked on a gasp when he found Bruce Wayne looming in the doorway of the closet.

"They should fit you," he said. Between the dim room behind him, lit only by the lamp on the nightstand, and the small overhead light in the closet, there were some steep shadows around him. "You're… so like him."

Bruce stepped forward with a hand out, clearly intending to take Jason by the shoulder. Suddenly the absurdly large closet was much too small. Every instinct Jason had earned on the streets howled at him to get away; there was a large man standing directly in the only available exit, and Jason had his back to a wall. The low, rushing noise filled his ears again.

"Back off old man," he barked, but his voice doubled, trebled, like there were three of him shouting at Bruce.

The shadows across Bruce's face, and the ones beyond in the bedroom, flickered in a quick firelight dance. Jason glanced at the light above him for just an instant, expecting it to have dimmed, or a bulb to have gone out. It hadn't. He looked immediately back to Bruce—

And found the doorway empty.

Jason frowned and rushed from the closet. Bruce wasn't in the bedroom proper, either, and Jason spent a few beats breathing and staring around before going out into the hallway. It was also empty.

"Big but fast," Jason muttered, returning to his room and closing the door behind him. He suddenly remembered the distinct _click_ of Dick's lock that first night he'd met him.

Jason's door locked too, with a simple twist latch. Jason considered it for a moment, then, slowly, threw the bolt.

It didn't make him feel much better.

That night Jason dreamed his blankets were strangling him, that the bed sheets had turned into a thicket of hands grabbing at him. In his dream, he flailed and thrashed his way free, falling out of bed with a thump. But when he woke he was flat on his back directly in the center of the bed.

He couldn't find the blanket, though. He groped around in the dark before finally determining he must have kicked it off the bed. He rolled to the edge and reached down for it, feeling blindly.

_Thump._

Jason snatched his hand back. What was that?

_Thump thump._

It was coming from the hall.

_Thump thump thumpthumpthump._

The sound went on, growing closer as Jason sat paralyzed in the middle of the mattress. It sounded just like the noise he had made in his dream when he'd fallen out of bed. Had that been what had woken him? It sounded like several people running, racing down the hallway.

The sounds reached his room and stopped.

Jason held his breath.

Laughter. He recognized it, but that wasn't particularly comforting. Those were the voices he had heard earlier that day, the ones he'd convinced himself were just house noises and his imagination.

Jason scowled and vaulted over the foot of the bed. This was ridiculous; he wasn't going to be scared of people running around and _laughing_. He flicked the lock and yanked the door open.

Moonlight silvered the corridor. Across from him, Dick was standing in his own doorway, looking sleep rumpled.

"Morning," Dick said groggily.

"Did you hear that?" Jason demanded.

Dick sighed. "Yeah. At least they sound happy."

"They who? What was that? Are you having a party in there or something?" Dick didn't _look_ like he was holding an orgy in his room; he looked like he needed every ounce of sleep he could squeeze out of the night.

"In my room? No," Dick said, stepping out into the hallway so he could pull the door closed behind him. He squinted suspiciously at Jason. "Are you?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Jason muttered.

Dick nodded sympathetically. "Give 'em an hour or so to calm down. Your room is usually pretty quiet anyway."

"Them who? What the hell is going on here, Dick?"

"The manor's kind of haunted," Dick said. Jason stared at him, not sure if he was joking or not. Dick grinned and shrugged, a little sheepish. The shrug turned into a stretch and a yawn. "I'm going back to bed." He reached behind himself to open his door the barest amount it would take to slip through, and faded back into his room.

Sure enough, Jason heard the door lock.


	5. Chapter 5

Jason's alarm chased confused dreams of running down endless hallways right out of his head. His body wanted to ignore the alarm and burrow deeper into the pillows; his brain wanted to seize on what had happened last night and sort through it. But Jason had a goal and let that propel him out of bed, setting everything else aside for the moment. He'd set the alarm early, intending to catch Alfred before he took Bruce's tray up.

Sure enough, Alfred was still in the kitchen, setting a carafe of coffee on the cart with Bruce's usual collection of newspapers.

"Good morning," Alfred said. "You're up and about early."

"Morning," Jason said. "Actually I was kind of hoping…" He took a deep breath. He didn't _want _to do this, but it was the right thing. "Could I take Bruce's breakfast up to him? Or go with you?"

Alfred blinked once, which Jason took to mean he was quite astonished. "I'm not entirely sure that would—"

"I need to apologize. I kind of yelled at him last night," Jason said. He could feel his cheeks heating with the memory of it. "I don't know what came over me."

"Ah," Alfred said. "I see."

"I don't have any excuse." The anger and fear had been swift and all-consuming for just a few seconds. Jason knew he had an issue being cornered but normally he'd be able to keep his head, especially since Talia had vouched for this guy. He wanted to say that Bruce was being creepy, that Jason had very specific rules about rooms with only one exit, but everything just sounded defensive even before he said it out loud.

He just needed to apologize and that would be that, but he didn't see that happening if Bruce kept himself locked away in the attic for days on end. It was Tuesday; he certainly wasn't going to sit on this until Friday's dinner.

"I am certain he understands," Alfred said. Jason gave him a confused look and Alfred smiled. "He raised Dick, after all, and they got into any number of shouting matches over quite trivial matters when he was younger. I will pass on your apologies."

"Well, all right," Jason said, trying to picture Dick, who just the other day wouldn't hear a word against Bruce, having a shouting match with him. Maybe that had been before Dick had run away when he was eighteen. "I guess. Tell me what he says?"

"Of course. I will go forthwith. Help yourself to oatmeal, if you like."

Jason did. It was baked oatmeal with peaches and nutmeg and cream, and it was utterly heavenly. Jason was going back for seconds when Dick came into the kitchen, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed.

"Good morning," Jason said. Then he blinked. The shirt Dick was wearing, a simple, soft faded blue t-shirt, was identical to the one Jason had picked out of the collection newly arrived in his closet. He looked down at himself to double check, then back up at Dick.

"Heh. Twins," Dick said. He poked his head into the fridge, but apparently didn't like what he found there and came to sit across the counter from Jason. "Looks better on you," he said with a critical look at Jason.

"Uh, thanks," Jason said. Half his mind was wondering if all the clothes in his closet really were Dick's hand-me-downs, and if so, just how much clothing did Dick own anyway? The other half was trying to find some difference between the two shirts. Was that a discolored spot near Dick's collar? He tugged on his own, trying to get a look and see if he had the same one, then realized that was rather insane and stopped.

"Hey, you haven't seen the movie room yet, have you?" Dick asked.

"Movie room? Like a home theater? No, I haven't found one."

"It's on the third floor. Bruce has a huge collection of old black and white movies, the chairs are super comfy, Alfred makes snacks… do you want to have a movie day?"

"Sure," Jason said. "As soon as I get back, we can do that. Sounds fun." He wasn't sure about black and white movies, but Dick really was making an effort and it was kind of a relief to know there was _something_ to do around here.

"Oh. You're not still thinking of going into Gotham today, are you?" Dick asked. He had poured himself a glass of orange juice and stuck a straw in it, but he was just fiddling with the straw instead of drinking.

"Yeah. Why, you change your mind about going?"

"No, it's just… I'm wondering if it's safe for _you_ to go. They could know you've been staying here. They might think—"

"Okay, hang on a second," Jason said. "For one, I can take care of myself. And for two, _they? _The Court of Owls, you mean?"

Dick flinched. "Speak not a whispered word—" he started.

"Why would your owls come after _me_?" Jason interrupted. "What would that gain them? Would you come riding to my rescue?"

"Yes," Dick said quickly.

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Would Bruce let you?"

Dick's answer was slower this time. "No," he said. "No he would not."

"I'm going into Gotham," Jason said. "It's just a city. A city where I grew up. It's broad daylight, and I know my way around. I'll be fine."

"It's supposed to rain today."

"I'll take an umbrella."

"The roads will be slick. Your bike—"

"Dick. I'm going. Get used to the idea."

Dick frowned and chomped down on his straw. Jason finished his breakfast in silence.

However, it looked like Jason might _not_ be going, at least not anywhere fast.

"How the hell…?" he wondered to himself, standing in the dim garage and looking at a bike with a very flat tire. He crouched to examine it, using the flashlight on his phone (just about all the phone was good for these days). There was no noticeable damage, but the lighting really wasn’t the best. He felt along the bottom edge of the tire where he couldn't see and sure enough his fingers hit something metallic and a little rough.

He must have picked up a nail somewhere on the road from the airport to the manor. Of all the rotten luck. Maybe he could patch it, if there were tools somewhere around. He didn't see any here in the garage, but maybe Alfred had some hidden away.

Alfred did not have any tools hidden away, though he did offer to order Jason anything he needed, or have the bike towed to a mechanic – just as soon as the phone lines were back up. Apparently they were on the fritz again, a not-uncommon occurrence having to do with how old the wiring in the house was.

"And here you were planning to go into town today," Alfred said with a thoughtful frown. Jason had asked after Bruce, as well, wondering what he'd said about Jason's behavior, but Alfred had informed him that he'd had to simply leave Bruce's breakfast outside his door this morning; the master of the house was having a lie-in, apparently.

"I don't suppose one of those other cars…" Jason trailed off hopefully.

"I'm afraid none of the vehicles in our collection are necessarily in working order, nor are they covered for drivers outside the family. They're heirloom models, you understand. I would take you myself, but I do have an appointment with Master Bruce in two hours to go over the household accounts. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"It's fine," Jason said. "I'll walk."

"I beg your pardon? It's miles!"

"The fresh air will do me good."

Jason's annoyance took him to the end of the drive, where he half expected the gates not to open. They did, though, letting him out onto the quiet street, and he realized that just getting from the house to here had likely been a half mile walk on its own.

Now he just had to find a bus stop which, as it turned out, were not plentiful in wealthy areas. Luckily, Jason's phone came back to life about a block away from the manor's drive. He pulled up a map and saw just how far he'd have to hike, then gritted his teeth and got started, refusing to turn back – mainly, he would admit, because fate seemed to be conspiring to keep him at the manor.

What was it with that place? Did it have some kind of weird gravity that made it hard to leave? Or – and he was not pleased to have had this thought – had Dick really not wanted him to go that badly? Had he tampered with the bike? Jason had gone straight to the garage after breakfast, leaving Dick in the kitchen, but it was possible Dick had stuck a nail in his tire beforehand as a precaution. He could even have done it the first night Jason had arrived, when he'd thought Jason was some kind of agent for a shadowy urban legend.

And what was with him just casually informing Jason that the manor was haunted and then leaving him wondering? For all Jason knew, Dick _had_ made those noises last night and was just messing with him, but he'd wished he'd remembered to ask him about it this morning.

By the time a bus arrived for Jason, he was not only tired and grouchy, he was soaking wet. The predicted rain had arrived and Jason had been so eager to leave the house, he'd done so without the umbrella he'd told Dick he'd take. The bus driver gave him an indifferent look as he handed over the fee and dropped into a seat near the center of the bus. He used the ride to begin sorting through all the emails, text messages, and missed calls that had started rolling in as soon as he was free of the manor's vortex.

There were a few from Talia, from before he'd called her and let her know he'd arrived all right. Then the usual host of random emails and social media notifications informing him that it had been a while since he'd given them his attention and wouldn't he _please_ come back soon because he was _missing out on life_.

And there were some texts from Tim. Jason could tell that Tim didn't expect him to reply, as Jason had warned him when they'd met on the grounds, but he'd texted anyway: a reiteration of his invitation to visit him any time at the Drake penthouse, then a bit later a note about some interesting features on the Wayne grounds, and then just this morning a picture of the old Gotham City Hall at dawn, the clouds overhead parted just barely to let a few slants of light down to illuminate the tarnished sign over the main doors.

_nice_, Jason texted back. There was a response almost immediately.

_!!! you're alive!_

_out and about. heading for a library and that sweet sweet internet access _

The bus rumbled to a stop at a light and Jason tried to get his bearings. He was pretty sure he recognized these streets. The bus he'd caught had a stop right outside the downtown library. It wasn't the cramped old branch Jason remembered from afternoons spent hiding out after school, but that was probably for the best.

_You can use mine, _Tim offered.

_thanks but I'm almost there_

Jason just planned to grab a free computer, check on his luggage, maybe answer a few emails, and then… well, maybe he'd just enjoy being around people for a little while. Catch up on what was happening in his hometown.

Jason's luggage had been delivered. The tracking info he'd been able to finally look up had said Saturday, and the tired-sounding customer care representative Jason had stepped out of the library to call had confirmed it. It had even been signed for, though the rep couldn't make out the signature. She did send a scanned copy of it to Jason, though, in case he recognized it.

He didn't. It looked like a determined squiggle, with no distinguishable letters, but the line whoever had signed on confirmed that Jason's things had been delivered to Wayne Manor. He was starting to get a rather disturbed feeling about the whole thing, so he walked back into the library because he always felt a little better surrounded by books.

The computer stations were all full now – Jason had had to wait twenty minutes for one in the first place, wanting to use a desktop in case he needed to print anything – so he wandered to the periodicals section instead where the chairs looked comfy. A few older folks sat there reading, one of them conducting an occasional symphony as he turned the pages of his newspaper and rattled them into position. None of them paid Jason any mind as he sat down and tried to figure out what to do.

He suddenly remembered he could text now, and sent Talia a quick message explaining what had happened with his luggage. She didn't answer; she could be anywhere in the world, so it was possible she was sleeping or else occupied in the sort of business where answering a text promptly was simply impossible.

Jason leaned back in the chair and tapped his phone against his mouth. He should just ask Alfred whose signature it was. There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Or at least, he would be given a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Frowning, he pulled up his phone's browser and searched _Bruce Wayne._

Nothing he didn't already know. Parents tragically murdered, became a recluse, speculation about the butler controlling the fortune and Bruce's mental health, business articles musing about the direction of Wayne Enterprises and how it managed to stay so successful when its majority shareholder was so absent.

Jason added _Dick Grayson _to his search and found all the sensational articles he remembered from his childhood about the deaths of the Flying Graysons. Dick hadn't been lying or exaggerating: common consensus was definitely that there was foul play behind their accident, but no one had ever been apprehended for it.

Well, all that meant was that if they _had _caught the person or people who'd done it, they'd been well-connected. And if they weren't, then the police probably hadn't looked too hard. That was the GCPD Jason remembered: always looking for the next way to line their pockets. They kept the elite of the city well protected – for a price – and ignored everyone else; except for the thuggish beat cops who got their kicks making life miserable for anyone at street level while they waited to be moved up the food chain.

Jason let out a slow breath. He didn't have to worry about that anymore. He'd gotten _out_. He flicked through a few more articles with only half his mind on them, the sources getting more and more questionable, from tabloids on down to personal blogs, including a conspiracy theory that Alfred had killed both Bruce and Dick and was faking their continued existence for access to the Wayne Fortune.

He abandoned that search and tried another, this time on the manor itself, vaguely intending to learn a little more about the architectural features so he could perhaps have something to think about in case he ended up with nothing better to do than stare at a wall for the rest of the week.

The manor was on the national register of historical sites, no surprise there. But before Jason clicked into that search result, the one below it caught his eye.

_Most Haunted Places in America_

Jason considered it for longer than it warranted, thumb hovering over the link. The manor might be haunted by one Dick Grayson, but actual ghosts? He wasn't convinced.

Before he could decide whether to start down that rabbit hole, a text message popped up. It was from Tim.

_I'm downtown. Want to get lunch?_

Jason was surprised to see it was past noon. _Sure, where?_

_Meet you at the library? Ten minutes_

_k. I'll be in the book sale room_

Jason stood and pocketed his phone. He'd passed the sale room on the way in and had gotten the idea to maybe pick up a few cheap books to tide him over for his stay. The manor's library was good, but there wasn't anything particularly _recent_.

The newspaper-reading man had left at some point, his newspaper abandoned at the table where he'd been sitting. A headline in a narrow column caught Jason's eye as he passed. It was below the fold and off to the side, but it was bold enough to read amidst a sea of advertisements:

**Hawk Strikes Again**

Jason paused and picked up the page.

> Police responded to a call from the state-of-the-art security system guarding the Powers Hotel in downtown Gotham early Monday morning. The intruder targeted the penthouse, Gotham home of Joseph and Maria Powers (owners of the international Powers Hotel chain). The Powers were uninjured in the break-in, having been attending a charity gala that evening, and reported nothing stolen. Commissioner Pettit commended his officers for their timely response to the security system's alarm and credited their efforts with scaring off the intruder. Further investigation revealed the locks had been overridden in the Hawk's signature style _(continued on F7)_

Jason flipped through the pages, but F7 appeared to be missing, along with most of the classifieds section. He reassembled the paper as best he could and folded it neatly on the table before continuing to the front of the building. The Hawk, huh? Apparently Dick's savior was nothing more than a burglar, though Jason couldn't exactly feel sorry for the Powers, not with all the wealth at their disposal.

He browsed down the few aisles of the book sale room, picking up anything that struck his fancy. The books were only a dollar apiece and every purchase was a library donation. Jason had a lot of warm feelings toward the Gotham Public Library, so he ended up with more books than he might have otherwise, plus a few used DVDs in case Dick still wanted to have that movie night. He still wasn't sure Dick was entirely innocent in the issue of his bike's flat tire, but the more he thought about it, here, far from the manor's gloomy halls, the more ridiculous it seemed.

Tim found him just as he paid and the volunteer watching the store gave him a smile along with a bag for his purchases.

"Oh, anything good?" Tim asked.

"Not sure, but we'll find out," Jason said. He eyed Tim's clothes a little warily; instead of the beat-up sneakers and jeans he'd been wearing when they'd first met, he had dress shoes, slacks, and a _tie_. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want. You said you were from Gotham, right? Any places you miss?"

"Not really." The Todd family hadn't exactly eaten out much, and once his parents were gone food had become one of Jason's primary worries. To this day he still didn't go to restaurants often; it seemed unnecessary when he was able to control his own food supply. "Actually, has it stopped raining?"

"Yeah."

"Food carts. Perfect for lunch. Come on." No way was he getting caught at some business-lunch restaurant.

Tim blinked, bemused, but followed Jason down the broad steps of the library and then across the street. Robinson Park wasn't far, and Jason knew there was good variety there. "No umbrella?" he asked Tim.

"I was dropped off at Drake Industries this morning before the rain started and I've been in meetings all day since then," Tim said ruefully.

"Really?" Jason wondered if he'd been way off about Tim's age. "You're pretty involved there?"

Tim laughed. "I'm the CEO."

"CEO? I thought you were still in college."

"That's just a formality. Honestly, the CEO position was just meant to be a formality, too, but…" Tim smiled a small, tight smile. "I'm very good at it. Oh, hey, chili dogs."

"Good choice. My favorite," Jason said.

"And there's a bench right there," Tim said. "Perfect."

They got lunch and sat on the plastic wire bench under a slightly-dripping tree. Tim didn't even hesitate before sitting down in his nice slacks, a fact Jason noted with consideration as he watched him carefully take the first bite of a very messy lunch. Either Tim was used to this kind of food and eating outside or he just was wealthy enough not to care if he messed up some delicate clothes.

"You hear about this Hawk thing?" Jason asked. Tim's pause might just have been because Jason had asked him mid-bite and he was trying not to lose control of the chili dog, but it also might have been because the Hawk was a touchier subject than Jason knew. Maybe it was like talking politics. He didn't know; there hadn't been masked avenger criminal types when he'd lived here.

"What'd she do now?"

"She?" Jason asked. Dick hadn't seemed to know even that about the Hawk.

"Yeah. There have been a few blurry pictures, but consensus seems to be she." Tim shrugged. "Of course, I don't know what pronouns she prefers, but unless I hear otherwise from the horse's mouth that's what I'm going with."

"Uh, right. So she's not just an urban legend? She's… what, a cat burglar? I read she broke into the Powers penthouse."

"Oh, that made the papers, huh?" Tim asked. He licked a slide of chili off the heel of his hand. "I didn't think it was particularly newsworthy. I heard about it from Joe Powers, he's on my board for some reason. This is probably the most exciting thing that's happened to him since he arranged that hostile takeover of Best Western."

Jason almost snorted but remembered at the last moment he had a mouthful of chili and hot dog. He swallowed. "Not a Powers fan, huh?"

Tim shrugged with one shoulder. "They're just a little… hidebound."

"That was a political answer."

"Okay," Tim said, rewarding Jason with one of what Jason was starting to think of as his "true" smiles. "They think Gotham is their private playground and everyone in it exists only to make their lives easier. I think the elite of Gotham – and I'm including myself in that – can do better. _Should_ do better. Also Joe Powers keeps trying to undermine me at D.I. and thinks I won't notice."

"He's an idiot, then," Jason said.

Tim raised the last bite of his chili dog in a "cheers" motion and devoured it. Jason caught up quickly. "I want ice cream," Tim announced. "Or Italian ice. Something. Come on."

He and Jason wandered the park until they found someone Tim called "the good ice lady". She didn't have any branding on her cart or anything, but she scooped three generous balls of pink and blue ice into styrofoam cups for each of them (strawberry for Jason, blue raspberry for Tim), and it was exactly the right consistency to eat with the tiny wooden spoons she provided.

Jason had had Italian ice in Rome that wasn't as good. They ate it while they walked.

"So," Jason said, picking up their conversation from the bench. "Doing better for Gotham. How does the Hawk fit in there?"

"Who says she does?" Tim asked.

"A little bird told me she occasionally performs daring rescues."

"You wouldn't read about that in a paper," Tim surmised. "And you've been locked in that black hole of a mansion since you got here. One might wonder who your source is."

"Not particularly reliable, to be honest," Jason admitted. "But I'm curious. There was definitely no Hawk around when I was a kid."

"Yeah, she showed up when I was in grade school. No one really knows anything about her, but the police can't catch her and that's enough to make her a hero to some people."

Jason nodded. He would have been one of them, for sure. "But what does she _do_? Is she a Robin Hood type? Help old ladies cross the street? Jewel thief?"

"All of the above?" Tim laughed. "Her motives are mysterious. So are her methods, for that matter. She gets into places she shouldn't be able to get into, does things she shouldn't be able to do. Some people say she can fly, some people say she can teleport…"

"What do you say?"

Tim eyed him. "I don't think about it that much. Could be anything, really, the world we live in. Why shouldn't Gotham have a superhero?"

"A superhero who burgles penthouses."

"Sounds about right for Gotham."

Jason couldn't disagree.

They walked a while longer, but when the rain started back up suddenly they were forced to bolt for the shelter of the buildings that lined the park.

"I can call you a car if you need to get back to the manor," Tim said as they stood under an awning outside a bakery watching the rain sheet down. "Or we can hang out at my place if you want."

"You don't have more meetings?"

"Free as a bird."

"Sure, then. I don't think I'm ready to head back just yet."

Tim gave him a sympathetic look and texted his driver. Jason kept his snarky comments to himself when a pristine black Lexus with tinted windows pulled up to the curb, completely ignoring downtown traffic while Tim and Jason slid in. Tim didn't even say anything to the driver, who apparently just knew where to go.

"So, do you know yet how long you're staying?" Tim asked as the buildings rolled by.

"At least until Friday, I guess. It was sort of an open-ended invitation."

"I don't think I asked before, but how do you know Bruce Wayne, anyway?"

"I don't," Jason said, eyeing the skyline as best he could. He wondered which of the skyscrapers the Drake apartment was in. "My adopted mom does. Or did. I get the impression they were friends once but fell out of touch."

"That's impressive. Mr. Wayne isn't exactly accessible."

"Yeah, don't ask me how she managed to befriend a famously reclusive billionaire from Gotham even for a short amount of time. That's Talia. She kind of specializes in impossible."

"Talia? That's your adopted mom?"

"Yeah, Talia Head."

Tim's head tilted slowly to the side. "Talia Head. Of the Head Foundation. Is your adopted mom."

"Didn't I mention that?" Enjoying Tim's reaction probably made Jason a bad person, but he grinned anyway.

"You didn't."

"I guess you know her?"

"I know _of_ her." Tim looked like he was about to say something else, but they pulled into an underground parking garage and he stopped, sitting silently until the driver pulled up just outside an elevator bank. They got out and the car glided away into the gloom.

Tim entered a code into a panel where there would normally be up and down buttons and one of the elevators slid open. Once inside, he entered another code in the place there would normally be floor buttons and they shot upward. Jason's ears popped.

"So Talia knows where you are, then?" Tim asked as the doors opened a few seconds later, letting them out into an elegantly appointed lobby with a gleaming floor, soft lighting from tasteful wall fixtures, and a few attractive but impersonal cushioned chairs. It was essentially a million-dollar front porch and Tim ignored it to let them through his front door into the penthouse itself.

"What, like specifically right now? She doesn't have a tracker in me," Jason said. He made sure to smile when he said it so Tim would know it was a joke, but Jason and Talia really had had a _discussion_ about that a few years ago. "But she knows I'm staying with Bruce, yeah. Why do you ask?"

Tim ushered Jason in. The door opened onto a fairly normal-looking hallway that turned right after just a few feet. "It's just— okay, you remember me telling you about that time Mr. Wayne invited me over?"

"Yeah, you were worryingly vague but I'm getting used to that by now. Must be something in the water here."

Tim actually laughed at that. He led Jason around the corner and the hall let out into a huge open area. It probably had furniture and things, but Jason was completely distracted by the view, to the point where he forgot Tim had been telling him something.

"Wow," he said, drawn almost magnetically across the room. "This— wow." They were inside the rain clouds, which from here looked like ragged streamers of grey cotton trailing through the sky. The other buildings were distant phantoms.

"You should see it on a clear day," Tim said. "Enjoy it. I'm going to go change."

Tim darted off back down the hall and re-emerged a minute later in jeans and a Gotham Knights t-shirt.

"I bet Dick would love this view," Jason said as Tim came to stand next to him.

"Would he?" Tim turned his gaze from the hazy city to Jason. "I never met him."

"Oh, yeah, sorry, you were telling me something about what happened the last time you visited the manor. Dick didn't show his face, huh?"

Tim worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before answering. "No. I— there was no sign there was anyone else living there besides the butler and Mr. Wayne. Do you want coffee? I want coffee." Tim turned and headed over to a kitchen area separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. Jason trailed after him and sat himself on one of the stools while Tim busied himself with coffee preparations, which honestly wasn't much, since he opted to use the Keurig rather than the large, traditional coffee pot sitting next to it. Jason could recognize the look of someone who needed to be doing something with his hands, though.

"Spit it out, Tim. I promise I won't think you're crazy."

The Keurig hissed at that and Tim watched the coffee stream into a mug. It was on the opposite counter, so it meant his back was to Jason. He waited until it was entirely finished before turning and sliding the cup gently across the counter to Jason and then turning to prepare another one for himself.

"Okay, well, I went over for tea," Tim said finally when his cup began to fill. "And it was fine. Really, it was actually pleasant. We had a normal conversation. But after an hour or so I started feeling kind of… strange. Just off, you know? Kind of nauseous, a little shaky. I tried to excuse myself, but when I stood up I almost fell over. They insisted I stay and lie down in one of the guest rooms and I couldn't really argue."

Tim's coffee was done now and he came around the counter. But instead of sitting next to Jason, he jerked his head toward the black leather couches, arranged in a square with an open side at one end of the living room. Jason followed obligingly. Tim jammed himself into one of the corners and pulled his legs up, resting his coffee on his upraised knees.

"Mr. Wayne actually picked me up and carried me up the stairs to one of the rooms. I remember… I must have been really out of it," Tim said with a nervous glance at Jason. Jason made what he hoped was an encouraging _go on _gesture. "Okay. I remember looking up at him from his arms and just seeing _shadows. _All around him. Across his face, gathering behind him. He put me down on the bed and I passed out." Tim took a deep breath. "When I woke up it was dark. And the door was locked. From the outside."

Jason frowned. "They locked you in a room?"

"I guess?"

"Why?"

"I… didn't ask. I climbed out the window and ran for it."

"You climbed out the window? From the second floor?"

"There was a trellis. I was motivated."

Jason didn't think there was currently a trellis on any of the walls near the bedrooms. Had it been removed? He took a sip of his coffee, trying to think of what to say. "That's scary," he settled on.

"I just remember thinking no one knew where I was. There was no one to miss me. So, you know. It's good someone knows where you are. It's good _Talia Head_ knows where you are."

"Yeah," Jason agreed. He was thinking about shadows.

Tim's eyes narrowed. "Something like that has happened to you."

"What? No, nothing like that. Nothing that extreme," Jason said. "It's just a creepy house. Tim, are you _sure_—" He stopped immediately as Tim's body language closed off even further, his legs squeezing closer to his chest, his mug held tightly in two hands. "Sorry," Jason said. "They just… okay, Bruce is weird, and Dick's a little weird but friendly enough, and Alfred… I just can't see him doing something like that."

"Are _you_ sure?" Tim asked quietly. "I didn't just get sick out of nowhere. I don't just see things. And I definitely don't panic. None of that is normal for me."

"What are you saying?"

Tim laughed a little and deliberately unfolded his legs. "Nothing, of course. Nothing that I would ever repeat to anyone outside of this room. But let's just say that if I ever did go back into that house I wouldn't eat or drink anything they gave me."

"I've been eating there for days and I'm fine," Jason pointed out.

Tim shrugged. "This was years ago. Maybe it _was_ just a freak illness. Maybe there's a perfectly good explanation for that locked door. Maybe you haven't been seeing things or hearing things."

Jason started a little and took another sizable drink to cover it. It didn't work.

"Ah," Tim said. "Or maybe you have."

"This is nuts. What the hell would be the point of— of whatever it is you think is going on?"

"I think Bruce Wayne is collecting black haired, blue-eyed orphans," Tim said. "To replace the one he lost."

The hazy mist at this altitude had finally thickened into a proper rain, and it pelted the windows. Streams of water wavered their way down the glass to join the rain falling on everyone below.

"What do you mean lost?" Jason asked. The last word was muted by a distant rumble of thunder.

"I don't think Dick Grayson is living there anymore."

Lightning snapped, threw Tim's cheekbones into relief, washed the color out of his eyes for just an instant.

Then the world faded back in and Jason laughed as the sky grumbled again. "You buy into those conspiracy theory blogs?" he asked.

"You said you wouldn't think I was crazy," Tim said.

"I don't. I promise I don't. I just think there has to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. Look, why don't you come by the manor some day?"

Tim's eyes widened. "Because I'm afraid I won't get back out?"

"Tell your board where you're going."

"They'd line up to lock me in," Tim said flatly. Jason raised his eyebrows. CEO of a successful international business, _despite_ a hostile board? He did not want to be on Tim's bad side. Figures he'd have a few quirks, though. Kid must be under a lot of pressure.

"Okay, well, maybe I'll see you creeping around the grounds at some point?"

"I don't _creep_," Tim muttered. "I just… someone's got to keep an eye on the place, right?"

"Sure," Jason allowed. "I'd say text me when you're doing that and we can hang out amongst the follies, but, well. You know."

"Electromagnetic interference is a typical sign of supernatural activity," Tim said. But he had a small hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth when he said it.

"Of course it is."

They let the matter drop and moved on to other things – things like playing _Diablo_ on Tim's giant TV screen, and comparing college experiences.

Tim told him about a tracking system he was attempting to develop and give to the GCPD, a suite of tools like body cams, improved police vehicles, and smart weapons that would not only make their jobs safer but would also improve accountability. But the project kept getting stalled in bureaucracy; Tim knew that his board considered it a waste of money, that Commissioner Pettit considered it an insult, and that before long, politicians would get dragged into things.

Jason thought it was admirable, but probably a lost cause. This was Gotham; corruption was the only thing holding the city together sometimes. Clean it out of the cracks and the whole place would collapse. While Jason might approve of a fresh start, he doubted any of the higher-ups would.

Pizza was ordered, snacks were consumed, and Jason told Tim about being adopted by Talia and what it had been like going from having less than nothing to having everything. It wasn't the kind of thing he usually talked about, but he liked Tim. Maybe it was because he was younger, but Tim was idealistic and determined and a breath of fresh air when Jason usually found himself surrounded by people who either feared his adopted mother or wanted something from her.

He told Tim that, too, and found himself complaining about Bruce Wayne's ridiculous fleet of completely unusable cars and Jason's soggy hike of petulance that had brought him into the city today on a mission to find his lost luggage.

"You know, I wasn't going to say anything but I was _wondering_ about that shirt," Tim said.

"What's wrong with this shirt?"

"It's like a size too small."

"Is it really? Huh," Jason wondered, looking down at himself. Tim squawked in protest as Jason's inattention to the game they were playing nearly caused him to get eaten by demons. "It was Dick's," Jason went on, not particularly caring about imminent character death. "Or is Dick's. I wasn't super clear on where it came from. Guess we're not as similar as he thought," he added as an afterthought.

"Hm," Tim said, executing some kind of complicated maneuver to salvage the on-screen situation. "Well, did you find your luggage?"

"No," Jason huffed, belatedly mashing X to wipe out what was left of the enemies. No problem. This game was really ridiculous in the amount of firepower it gave you to swing around, but he kind of liked that. "Someone signed for it like, three days ago. No idea who or what happened to it. I'll ask Alfred when I get back."

"I dunno, Jay," Tim said. _Jay? _When had they gotten on nickname terms? Then again, he supposed he _had_ called the kid Timmy the first time they'd met, so he let it go. They were both probably a little desperate for a friend, and he was having fun. Tim might be a little odd, but way less odd than the other people Jason had been hanging around lately. And even his oddness made a kind of sense if you thought about it. If druggings and hallucinations could make sense. At least it made more sense than _haunting_.

Jason's thoughts were rambling and he'd missed what Tim said. "Wait, what?"

"I mean, they tried to stop you coming to the city, who's to say they haven't taken your things and hidden them somewhere?"

"Well they weren't very _good_ at stopping me from coming into the city, if that's what they were doing," Jason pointed out.

"I don't think they expected you to walk! Seriously, who does that. And they couldn't exactly use physical force without totally spooking you."

"But why?" Jason asked plaintively for what felt like the third or fourth time. "What's the point of keeping me at the manor, or hiding my stuff? It's not like I sent for a big box of exorcism materials, it's just clothes and stuff like that. Are they just sort of hoping I'll develop Stockholm Syndrome and stay forever?"

"Maybe," Tim said, taking the suggestion far more seriously than Jason had intended. "Or maybe they suspect you know something, or were sent to find something out. You said Mr. Wayne knows Talia. If that's true, he knows she's smart and takes every opportunity to gather information."

Jason didn't comment on how close to the truth that last statement was. He _was_ supposed to report back to Talia, but he hadn't expected to actually find anything worth reporting other than a few odd stories of his summer with the famous Mr. Wayne. "That would suggest there's something to find. What could that be?"

"I don't know," Tim said. "Maybe evidence that something really is not right up there?"

"Like?"

"A death certificate?"

"Oh, come on. The media would be all over that. There's no way he could hide it if his kid had died."

"In this city? With his money? Do you really believe that?"

Jason hesitated.

"Oh, geez, I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was getting," Tim said suddenly. Sure enough, solid darkness was pressing against the windows, heavier than it might otherwise be at this hour thanks to the storm. The glimmer of the city seemed very distant.

"Ah, crap, yeah, I should definitely go. I told Dick we might have a movie night when I got back." If he left now he'd be back at the manor before nine, so the night was still young enough for a movie, especially given Dick's nocturnal proclivities.

"Movie night with a ghost. Fun times."

"Come on, Tim. He's real. I've seen him pick things up, move them around, I've seen him eat."

"Have you?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, of course," Jason said, though actually, come to think of it, he wasn't particularly sure about seeing Dick eat. He had, hadn't he? He had to have. Well, he'd pay attention now.

"Well I guess that lends more weight to the hallucination theory than the ghost theory," Tim said, standing and stretching. Jason rolled his eyes and got up, too. "Are you really going back there?"

"I told Talia I'd give it a week," Jason said with a shrug. "What am I gonna do, call her and tell her I'm too scared of ghosts to go back? She'd send the Pope himself." Besides, he was kind of curious now.

Tim smiled, a small, wistful smile. "It's nice she cares. Well, if you're determined… I think I'll do some digging around. Just to see if there _is_ something to find."

"Knock yourself out. I'm going to finish out this week and then be on my merry way," Jason said.

"If you do take off, keep in touch," Tim said. "Otherwise I'll have to assume you died in there, too."

Jason's laugh was a little weaker than it could have been.


	6. Chapter 6

When Jason informed Tim that he'd be taking the bus back to Wayne Manor (or at least, the general neighborhood of Wayne Manor), Tim informed him that no, he would be taking Tim's driver. Jason argued a little half-heartedly, but ultimately didn't complain too much about being packed back into the pristine Lexus and sent on his way. Since Tim wasn't coming with him, though, he insisted on sitting in the front.

"So how long you been driving for Tim?" Jason asked as the car pressed its way through darkness and rain.

"Five years, sir."

"Cool. You like it?"

"Of course, sir."

"Okaaaay. Are you from Gotham?" Jason felt like he was playing twenty questions trying to find the guy's personality.

"Yes, sir."

"Got a name?"

"John Smith, sir."

"Can I call you John?"

"Yes, sir."

Jason considered diving out the window. "Oh, hey, John, can we make a quick stop at a convenience store or something? Whatever's easiest, I want to get some snacks."

John wordlessly pulled up to a Safeway a block later.

"I'll be back in like, ten minutes. Want anything?"

"No, sir."

"Of course not." Jason jogged into the store, hoping that John wasn't going to just idle at the curb pissing off traffic the whole time. But Jason had intended to pick up some easily snackable food on his trip out to the city anyway: cereal, granola bars, fruit snacks, whatever he could keep on-hand so he didn't have to actually make meals if he didn't feel like it. He wondered if Alfred would die of a heart attack if he brought ramen noodles into his pantry.

He thought Dick might appreciate some junk food exploration, as well, and added cookies, snack cakes, and a variety pack of chips to his basket. He still got a little twinge when he loaded up at a grocery store like this, and he still couldn't help looking at prices and calculating the total in his head as he went even though he knew he could probably buy the entire store with the card in his pocket. It didn't hurt to stay grounded.

He checked out and the Lexus glided up just as he made it to the curb. Jason let himself into the passenger seat, bags and all, before John could get out and open the door for him.

Their conversation on the way back to the manor went much as it had thus far that evening. Jason was actually a little relieved when John pulled up to the gates, which somehow swung open just as they approached.

John gave Jason the barest of glances before proceeding up the drive to drop him off at the front door.

"Well, thanks for the ride, John," Jason said, stringing his bags of books and DVDs and snacks along his arm.

"Of course, sir."

The manor door opened, spilling a little light out into the damp night. The rain was a mere drizzle at this point, but it was still persistent.

"Welcome back, Mr. Todd," Alfred said. "I see you've brought company. Would they like to— ah, I suppose not." John was already guiding the car back out.

"Ran into Tim down in the city. He loaned me his driver," Jason explained with a shrug. Alfred stood back to let him in and held out his hands for the bags. "Nah, I got it Alf, thanks though. Dick around?"

"Most assuredly," Alfred said. "But where, I could not say. You were gone for some time. Did you accomplish what you needed to?"

"Yeah. Well, sort of. My luggage is still missing – I want to ask you about that as soon as I put my stuff down. Did you, um, get to talk to Bruce?"

"Indeed. He says he understands completely and bears you no ill will for the incident. In fact, he apologized for putting you in an awkward situation."

"It wasn't his fault," Jason protested. "Ah, never mind. We shouldn't be making you the middle man. Thank you for telling him."

"Certainly. By the by, the phone lines returned to working order this afternoon. I took the liberty of calling in a repair service for your motorbike. I do hope that's all right."

"That's great, thanks," Jason said. Take that, Tim's conspiracy theories. "Did they have to replace the tire?"

"I'm afraid so. And they discovered a flaw in the rim. It seems the tire was underinflated when you acquired the bike, which I am told can cause other issues as well. They will have to order a part and take it in for more extensive repairs. Of course, I asked them to check over the rest of the machine while they have it, since if there was one problem there might be others. They should have it back to us in a week, though."

"Oh. Wow. Okay, then," Jason said slowly. "I'm glad you found that out before I was riding it somewhere, I guess." Tim's conspiracy theories could hold their own, it seemed. Jason shook his head. "Thanks, Alf. I'm just gonna go put this down and see if Dick still wants to hang out tonight."

Jason lugged his bags up to his room, trying not to think of everything he and Tim had talked about that evening. He caught himself suddenly feeling grateful for all the sealed, pre-packaged food he now had hanging from his arms, and shook his head. Tim's paranoia was catching, and that was unusual in and of itself.

Well, the kid was likeable. Jason made friends easily enough, but he'd met Tim all of twice and already felt like they'd known each other for ages. Come to think of it, it was kind of similar with Dick (though stranger, definitely stranger). Maybe it had something to do with being back here in Gotham, or with being isolated in the manor.

Tim was different in the city, too. Here on the manor grounds he'd been hesitant, a little shy. Today he'd been all confidence. At least until he'd started talking about what had happened to him here.

Jason put the plastic bags down on his bed and started unpacking them. He'd tucked away a box of granola bars in the night stand, individual packages of pop tarts between layers of clothes in the closet drawers, and was just seeing if he could tuck some packets of cookies up between the box spring and bed frame when he realized what he was doing.

Food hoarding. He thought he'd outgrown that. He hadn't been food insecure in a very long time. He considered for a moment, then decided to leave what he'd already put away where it was. The rest he just left in the bags and set on the desk, reminding himself that Talia had sent him here, that he could leave any time he wanted, and that he had no reason to feel unsafe.

Jason rifled through his library bag to pull out the DVDs he'd picked up: _Treasure Planet, Ocean's 11, The Karate Kid, _and a version of _Robin Hood_ Jason had never seen before, all clearly copies the library had bought several of when they were popular and now needed to offload_. _Then he went looking for Dick, deliberately forgetting his luggage woes for the moment.

He found Dick on the mezzanine – or he thought he did.

"Hey Dick," Jason called, lengthening his stride down the hallway. Dick's back was to Jason and he was dressed strangely, for him, his jeans more convincingly worn than anything that had been store-distressed, and wearing a brown leather jacket. In those clothes, Dick looked taller, his shoulders broader. He did not look like himself, and he didn't turn when Jason called. Jason jogged to catch up, but Dick kept walking, hands in his pockets, until he turned the corner that would put him at the top of the main stairs.

Jason was just a few steps behind him. "Look, I'm sorry I was gone so long, but I'm fine—" Jason's steps stuttered to a stop as he rounded the corner, just a tiny jut of wall that delineated the difference between hall and landing. But Dick wasn't there, and he wasn't on the stairs or in the foyer.

"What?" Jason said to himself. He stepped away from the top of the stairs and looked up and down the hallway. It was as dim and shadowed as it always was at night, the evenly spaced wall sconces letting out just enough glow to deepen the darkness between them. Slowly, he walked back down the hall, stopping where it opened up to look down onto the parlor.

Someone was down there, standing nearly under the slight overhang from the mezzanine where Jason stood.

"Dick?" Jason called down.

Once again, Dick didn't seem to hear him. Jason could barely make him out in the gloom; he hadn't turned on any lights. But he was heading unerringly for the door at the back of the parlor.

Jason turned back to the hall stairs and trotted down them, skipping every other one. He swung open the door to the parlor at their base, but Dick had already left the room. Jason followed him through the back door of the parlor into the hall and just barely caught a glimpse of him rounding the corner. He went after him, swung around the corner, and came to a stop in the hallway between the pantry and the kitchen just as the pantry door swung shut.

Jason shoved into the pantry and slapped the light switch since Dick apparently hadn't bothered.

The pantry was occupied only by canned goods, baking staples, some of the larger pots and pans… no Dick. Jason took a few steps further in just to be sure, but while the room was incredibly large for a pantry, there wasn't really anywhere to hide. Jason paced the perimeter, feeling like his brain was bending in half.

There was a dumbwaiter in the back corner of the pantry that Jason hadn't noticed before. He entertained the brief, slightly hysterical thought that Dick had crammed himself into it before he spotted the trap door in the floor just below it.

His eyebrows went up. An actual trap door. He could see the hinges, and the place where he could flip up the handle out of a recess in the door to pull it open. It didn't appear to be locked, but of course he couldn't know until he tested it…

It was not locked. That meant it wasn't one of the places that he shouldn't be wandering. Jason looked around the pantry one last time, then shrugged and swung open the door.

Once he got it past the catch, it opened the rest of the way on hydraulic arms and stayed in place. The stairs down were a spiral, but not so tight as to be unmanageable or even particularly difficult. It looked dark down there, but Jason had his phone on him and it wasn't doing much. He flicked the flashlight on and went down.

The floor at the bottom of the stairs was poured concrete, pretty normal for any basement. His phone illuminated the walls easily; the room was about thirty feet across, and empty but for a few large tables along the walls. It looked like a staging area. The dumbwaiter had a port down here, too. There were three doors in different walls, but directly across from Jason there was another stairwell (not a spiral this time) leading further down.

A faint glow came from it, enough to see by as Jason crept down the stairs, holding his breath without realizing he was doing it. He turned off the flashlight and put his phone back in his pocket so he could keep one hand on the railing. He realized he was still carrying the DVDs and felt a strange relief. Nothing _too _weird could happen when you were clutching a stack of used library DVDs, right?

The stairs went down at least a storey, ending in a set of double doors. One of them was propped open, and whatever room was beyond, it was brightly lit. Jason slipped through without touching the door.

The room he emerged into was _huge_. Jason's brain fed him "gymnasium", but he took in the details that formed that conclusion without paying much attention to them, because there was only one thing in the room he could possibly focus on.

Dick was flying through the air.

He was, Jason realized a second later, on a trapeze. But the way he looked, the trapeze could have just been for show so that no one would suspect a human had achieved the power of flight without telling anyone. He _soared_, arms twined in the ropes, the bar across his back with his legs hanging down. As he hit the apex of his swing in one direction, his legs came up in front of him, toes pointed toward the ceiling. He swiped them down hard and let the ropes uncoil from his arms, catching himself on the bar with his elbows. His momentum carried him over the bar, his legs parting in a split as he spun around the trapeze.

He spun around the bar twice, coming out of the last circuit with one leg extended behind him, the other knee bent, the speed of his swing lifting the hair off his face. He looked like the figurehead on some ancient ship and he stayed that way for a full swing before contorting his body into a twist that swung his legs forward again, and up, straight above him. His legs opened in a V and his ankles caught the ropes, twisting into them like an aerial dancer's silks.

And then he dropped.

Jason almost screamed, but Dick's fall was arrested abruptly, his calves and ankles still entwined in the trapeze ropes, the move clearly intentional. He swung freely, upside down, arms extended toward the ground. He swung that way for two arcs, building momentum, before finally jackknifing up and out into a line parallel with the ground and twisting into a tight horizontal turn. For a few seconds he was completely out of contact with ropes and bar, spinning between them all as they continued to swing under him, before landing in a seated position on the bar.

At which point he spotted Jason.

Dick blinked, face going smooth with surprise. Jason realized he was standing there staring up at Dick with eyes wide and mouth slightly open, breath completely stuck in his lungs, like he was reenacting a Baroque religious painting – one of those ones with a bunch of angels blinding some poor sap kneeling in the mud.

Then Dick's surprise faded into a grin stolen off the face of Puck himself. He grasped the ropes in either hand and tugged himself up, looking like he weighed perhaps as much as a large feather. He stood on the bar with one foot, the other leg extended behind him and then swinging to the front with the momentum of the trapeze, urging it to greater heights.

He let go, repeating the horizontal twist that had just had Jason's heart in his throat, spinning between the ropes for two full turns and Jason was _certain_ the bar would pass out from under him before he could grip it again. But then Dick caught himself on it by the ankles again. Instead of swinging this time, though, he immediately curled forward and somersaulted over the bar once, twice, before sitting on the bar for a bare instant and repeating the move _backward_.

He finished it hanging from one knee, the other leg stretched behind him and his arms outspread as he arced through the air, then swung himself backward on the fulcrum of his knee. For an instant he was upright between the ropes before spearing straight down and catching the bar in his hands at the last moment.

His body flowed forward and back with the swing of the trapeze, gaining height and momentum before he finally let go, flipped through the air four full times, and landed on a wide platform that Jason's logical brain said must have been set up precisely for that purpose while his hindbrain screamed that he was about to witness a messy death.

Jason took a deep breath. "Holy shit."

Dick had landed in a crouch and rose slowly, dusting his hands off on his bright blue spandex. He was, a distant part of Jason's brain noted, not wearing jeans or leather.

"I'll be down in a second," Dick called. That was when Jason realized that the platform he'd landed on must not be the one he'd started from, because the trapeze was much too high for that. Instead, Dick climbed the rigging at the back of the platform up to a much taller, narrower level where he used a long pole with a hook on the end to catch the still-swinging trapeze and reel it in. He appeared to be going through an inspection routine, so Jason took the opportunity to look around.

The trapeze was set up between two structures with platforms at various levels. There was a net stretched beneath it, and below that the floor had been carved away into a pit filled with foam blocks. This was the main feature of the room, stretched right across its middle. At the far end of the room were sets of parallel and uneven bars, rings, a vault, and balance beams at different levels. The other end of the room seemed to be set up for floor routines.

Jason thought the gymnasium must stretch the entire length of the house, and be at least two storeys deep. 

Dick was clambering down the platform's ladder, moving quickly enough that his feet barely touched the rungs, hands sliding down the rails. Jason met him at the bottom.

"That was amazing. Seriously, Dick, that was— you just do this for _fun_?"

"It's more fun with an audience," Dick said, grinning at him.

"You could fill stadiums."

Dick's grin faded a little. "Yeah. Well. It's not meant to be." He snatched a towel from where it had been draped over a low rung and swiped at the back of his neck. "I'm glad you're back safe. I was worried."

"Not a feather to be seen out there," Jason said. "Sorry I was gone so long. Hey, did you still want to do that movie night?" He held up his handful of DVDs.

"I was kind of trying to be mad at you," Dick said. "But you're making it a little difficult."

"Dick, it was fine. There's nothing in that city that wants to get me."

"Yeah, but I didn't know that. Neither did you for that matter. Never mind. Is that _Robin Hood_?"

"It's… _a Robin Hood_. I've never seen this one."

Dick plucked the DVD box out of his hands. "Me neither." He grinned again, any earlier ire passing like one of the clouds he loved to watch. "I pick this one. Let me clean up. Meet you by our rooms in twenty minutes?"

The movie room was on the third floor in the west wing of the house, closer to Bruce's quarters than Jason had been yet. Dick had been right about the set-up: it was impressive. The chairs were deep leather recliners and absurdly comfortable. Jason asked Dick if he wanted to share in his bounty of junk food, but Dick declined, saying that Alfred had made one of his favorite dinners that night and he was still full.

Jason casually left a few chip packets and cookies in Dick's reach anyway. Surely after a routine like Jason had just seen, he'd start feeling a little peckish before long.

Halfway through the movie, though, he forgot to watch whether Dick took any snacks. The movie was terrible, and Dick was _hilarious_, commenting throughout with increasing sarcasm. Jason found himself trying to one-up him and by the time the movie was over both of them were aching from laughing too hard.

"I get to pick the next one," Dick said.

"Technically you picked that one," Jason pointed out.

"_Details_," Dick replied, already queuing up one of his precious black-and-whites, something with Errol Flynn and a great deal of swashbuckling. About ten minutes in, Jason snuck a glance over at Dick to see if he was really serious about liking this stuff, only to find Dick watching _him_ with unconcealed glee.

"You hate it," Dick said.

"How is this better than that _Robin Hood_ we just watched, again?"

"It's a classic! Plus, it's pirates which is much different from highwaymen."

"Because of the boats?" Jason asked.

"Yes," Dick said seriously. "Because of the boats." He looked back at the screen where a pirate was swinging across the set on a rope. "Come on. Haven't you ever wanted to be a pirate?"

"Not particularly," Jason said. "But if I did I'd be better at it than this guy."

"I don't think it's about being good at it. I think it's more about sailing the high seas, only following your own rules, and probably something poetic about wind in your sails," Dick said. His tone was light, but Jason got the feeling he'd thought about this more than he wanted to let on.

"Is that what you imagine when you're on the trapeze downstairs?" he asked.

Dick gave him a surprised look, a slight blush just barely visible in the dim room. "Maybe," he confessed. "Mostly I try to keep my mind on the routine, but since it's just me, and there's a net…" He gave a little sigh. "It's a bad habit. But I guess it doesn't really matter."

Jason shifted uncomfortably while bold declarations were made on screen – the love story flaring up, or heroic promises and villainous diatribes maybe. Whatever it was, it was impassioned, and Dick was sitting next to him washed out in black and white, gazing at the screen with everything locked behind his eyes.

"I wanted to be a teacher," Jason said abruptly. "When I was a kid. When I grew up I wanted to be a teacher."

Dick turned in his seat to look at him with raised eyebrows. "A teacher? Not an astronaut, or an explorer, or a rock star or something?"

"Nope. I wanted to teach. I had this really amazing English teacher in fourth grade, and I wanted to be just like her. One of those teachers that changes a kid's life, you know?" She hadn't been able to change Jason's, of course, but that wasn't her fault.

"Hm," Dick said, sounding uncertain. "Most of my teachers were other performers at Haly's. And then homeschool, after."

Jason nodded. "I had private tutors for a while, after Talia adopted me." 

"Weird, right?" Dick said. "That was an adjustment."

"Yeah, I was basically begging Talia to put me in a real school after a few months of that."

"Me too," Dick said. "Bruce said no, though. It wasn't safe."

Jason let that go. He didn't want to start a fight about Bruce's parenting at midnight when he was already a little leery of him and trying not to let it get to him. "Talia made it happen," he said with a shrug. "I had a bodyguard for a while, though, which was not helpful. Neither was moving around so much."

"And you were safe?"

"Yeah. Nothing ever happened to me that wasn't immediately handled. Talia's very protective." And she had a very highly trained staff whose origins Jason had decided early on he would not be looking into. If Talia was part of a crime family or something it was probably better for him not to know.

Dick _hmm_'d consideringly. "Bruce never mentioned her. I wonder how they know each other."

"She didn't say, either. She said she wanted me to form my own impressions. But she must like him or she wouldn't have let me come." That wasn't _strictly_ true. Talia might like Bruce, but the fact that she'd suggested Jason accept the invitation only indicated that she thought he was harmless.

"Why _did_ you come?" Dick asked. "You have the whole world. Why come here?"

"Honestly? Because Talia thought it was a good idea," Jason said. "I don't know why. Maybe she's curious about how Bruce is doing."

"Oh. So you're going to report back to her."

Oops. "Not like that," Jason reassured him. "I mean, I'll tell her about my visit but I'm not, like, a _spy_. What could there be to spy on? It's not like Bruce is leaving Wayne Enterprises secrets lying around." Even as he said it, he remembered what Tim had suggested earlier that evening: _Maybe they suspect you know something, or were sent to find something out_. Why was everyone around him so damned suspicious?

"If you wanted W.E. business secrets this wouldn't be a bad place to start." Dick's tone was carefully neutral.

"Look, I don't work for Talia," Jason said, a little annoyed. He had been invited, after all, not sent. "She adopted me. It's not a business relationship. Do you work for Bruce?"

Dick snorted. "No. Sorry. Trust issues, I told you. I guess if you were a corporate spy you probably would have a much better story cooked up."

"Hmph." Jason said. Then, with a sideways look at Dick and a small smile, "Maybe that's what I'd _want_ you to think."

Dick blinked at him, then grinned when he realized it was a joke. "Then you wouldn't say that, either."

"Excellent, my plan is working."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Clearly, I'm no match for your wits. Oh, we should watch _The Princess Bride _next."

"More pirates?"

"I'm in a mood."

"Okay, fine, but do we have to finish this one first?"

Dick punched him in the shoulder – not hard – and said that yes, they had to watch at least to his favorite fight scene and then they could switch movies. Now that he knew Jason wasn't particularly enthused about the movie, though, Dick didn't hold back on his commentary. The movie might be a favorite of his, but he was under no illusions about how hokey it was.

The night passed that way, though they didn't make it half an hour into _The Princess Bride_ before Jason started to feel that groggy, too-late-too-early feeling. He dozed off in his chair and woke up to Dick quietly trying to shut everything down without waking him.

"We should probably go to bed," Dick said.

"Yeah," Jason agreed, yawning and stretching right down to his toes. He helped Dick pick up the wrappers and gather up the uneaten snacks – there were some missing, right? Surely Jason hadn't eaten that many bags of chips by himself? – and turned out the lights.

The hallway outside was dark, much darker than the hall on the second level, but Dick guided him unerringly down it toward the stairs. Floorboards creaked under their feet.

"Hey Dick?" Jason asked.

"Yeah?"

"Last night – or this morning I guess – you said the manor is haunted. Haunted by what? Or who?"

Dick paused and Jason ran into his back, which made both of them laugh punchy, stifled 3 AM laughter. Dick flapped a hand at him. "Shh, shh, you'll wake up Bruce."

"Right. Let's get downstairs." Jason shuffled down the stairs after Dick, placing each foot tentatively. Dick had led him to the narrow, enclosed east stairs, but there was a small nightlight on the landing. Nevertheless, Jason was glad to emerge into the dim, gloomy light of the second floor. "Okay," he said. "Haunting. Spill."

"I'm not actually sure," Dick said. He looked up and down the hallway and began moving toward the end with their rooms. Jason followed, suddenly wondering about the wisdom of discussing a haunting right in the middle of the haunt in question. In the middle of the night. In semi-darkness. He shivered a little. "I get the feeling Bruce has a better idea," Dick went on. "But he doesn't like to talk about it. He says I shouldn't worry about it."

"And you don't? Because he said so?"

"Of course," Dick said. The look he gave Jason might have been wry, or it might have been sad. It was hard to tell in the dim light. "The last time I didn't listen to Bruce, the— well, I told you what happened." Dick's eyes were wide and he seemed to be making a careful effort to make eye contact with Jason.

Jason knew that expression. He'd made it himself when he was lying to Talia.

"Okay," Jason said. "It's just interesting, is all."

"You're not scared?"

"Should I be?"

Dick hesitated and Jason raised an eyebrow at him. "No," he said hurriedly. "I don't think so."

"That's… super encouraging, Dick."

"Well. It's usually just odd noises. I've lived here practically my whole life and I'm fine."

_For a given definition of fine_, Jason thought. What he actually said, though, was, "Yeah. Not sure I believe in hauntings anyway."

"Probably the smart choice. Good night, Jason." They'd reached their rooms. Dick slid his door open the barest fraction and slipped through it, the way he always did every time Jason had seen him enter or exit his room. Jason waited a moment until he heard the lock click, then went into his own room. He considered the lock, but decided against it. Not like a lock would stop a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched a bunch of trapeze acts to try to describe what Dick was doing in that scene, but here are the two I drew most heavily from, since they're solo acts:   
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jc9VGjJX8d8  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rr9X41l7Dlk


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, hey, Alfred, any chance I could read one of those papers when Bruce is done?" Jason asked, snagging Alfred in the morning just before he went up.

"I'm afraid they're quite dismantled when Master Bruce has finished with them," Alfred said, not batting an eye at the request. "But I can double our subscription if you would like?"

"Uh, no," Jason said, eyeing the stack of papers on the cart. That would be… a lot of papers. "That's all right."

Alfred saw his look and smiled. "Just one, then, perhaps? What is your preferred paper?"

"No, that's okay. I don't think I'll be here that much longer, really, so there's no point. I was just curious about local news."

"The _Gazette, _then."

"Yeah, but I don't need it, so seriously, don't worry about it," Jason insisted. "Can I talk to you when you come back down, though? I might have a lead on my missing luggage."

"Of course. Help yourself to breakfast."

Jason did, assembling a plateful of biscuit and scrambled eggs left in the pan from what Alfred had made that morning. There was honey and jam, too, plus tea and fresh-squeezed orange juice in the fridge. Jason had finished off a plate and had just gotten up to pour himself more juice when he heard Dick's voice in the hallway, right outside the kitchen door.

"Alfred, I'm back!"

Back from where? Jason poked his head out of the kitchen, but the hall was empty. "Dick?" he called.

"Jason?" Dick's voice came from behind him. Jason whirled. Dick was standing next to an open fridge, staring at him.

"How did you—" Jason started, at the same time Dick said, "Why are you—"

Then Dick vanished.

Jason dropped his glass. It shattered, splattering juice across the tiled floor. Jason stood there, with juice soaking into his socks, staring at the fridge. It was, he noted, closed.

He stepped gingerly out of the mess, avoiding the glass, and grabbed a roll of paper towels. His socks were soaked, so he stripped them off before kneeling to start picking up the glass and sopping up the juice, part of his mind latching onto the immediate emergency of safely cleaning up with some relief while the other part gibbered in the complete absence of any available rationalization

"Oh dear," said Alfred, appearing in the doorway with his now-empty cart. Jason jumped and a piece of glass sliced across his finger.

"Damn," he swore, sticking it into his mouth immediately. The orange juice that had been on the glass did _not_ help. "Sorry, Alfred. I dropped a glass."

"I can see that," Alfred said, not unkindly. He abandoned the cart and moved around the mess to Jason's side. "Let me look at that cut."

Alfred dabbed at it with a paper towel, declared it not deep, and left to get band-aids. Jason held the paper towel on it so he wouldn't add blood to the mess on the floor. Alfred returned soon enough and once Jason's finger was covered they cleaned up the rest together.

"Alfred," Jason said, sopping up the last of the juice. "Where's Dick?"

"I couldn't say for certain," Alfred said. "He may still be abed. In fact, it's likely."

"Is he—" _A ghost_? Jason stopped himself before he could actually say that. "Um. Look. Dick told me the manor is… haunted?"

Alfred smiled. "Master Dick does love a ghost story. The house rather invites them, doesn't it? There are stories going back all the way to the foundation's laying."

"Like what?" Jason asked.

"Oh, the usual grisly stuff. Workers sacrificed to blood the foundation, mad masters walling up guests in the cellars, delicate ladies seen wandering the grounds. I'm afraid there's no historic proof to any of it."

None of that sounded like laughter, like footsteps running through the halls, like seeing and hearing people where there were none.

"The stories can play tricks on the mind," Alfred said. "Let me guess: you spied something out of the corner of your eye, and it startled you badly enough to drop the glass?"

"Not exactly," Jason said. "I mean, yes, I was startled, but… Look, I saw Dick, plain as day, standing right there, and then he disappeared."

"Well, Master Dick does have a way about him—"

"No, I mean he _vanished_. While I was looking at him."

Alfred frowned. "I see."

"And? Am I crazy? Hallucinating?"

"I am sure I couldn't say, young man. But I do not think so. I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation," Alfred said. He was looking hard at the spot Jason had indicated.

"I'm all ears."

Alfred was silent for a moment. Then, "I don't know," he said softly. "Nothing like that has ever happened before."

Jason let out a slightly strangled laugh. "Oh, good."

"Perhaps it would be best to… to simply carry on," Alfred said. "I shall ask Master Bruce about it. And you shall ask Master Dick when next your paths cross. Now, I believe you had said something about your luggage?"

Jason stared at him for a moment. Just move along, when he'd just seen something impossible? How… how _British_. But Alfred was looking at him expectantly and he could think of nothing else to do but go along with it.

"Right. Well," he said slowly, trying to wrench his brain back out of a fight-or-flight gear and into something approaching rational. It helped that Alfred was supremely calm and looking at him expectantly. "I called the shipping place, and they said it was delivered. They even showed me the receipt with a signature." Jason pulled out his phone. He'd made sure to screenshot the receipt.

Alfred considered it. "I suppose it could be Master Dick's signature. If he were feeling very poorly and had forgotten the first letter of his name," he said dubiously.

"I guess I'll ask him that, too, when I see him. Good thing he's a bad liar."

"Is he?" Alfred asked. "I'm sure he wishes you to think so."

Jason blinked at him. "What does that mean?"

"Just what I said, no more. Now then. You had mentioned keeping up with local news. Anything in particular I can enlighten you on?" Alfred asked. Jason got the impression he was trying harder than usual to make conversation, and was slowly leading Jason from the kitchen by his body language, casually holding the door for him so Jason followed before he'd realized he'd been led.

"Uh, just curious about the old hometown," Jason said, trailing Alfred down the hall toward the parlor. "And this Hawk person."

"Ah, yes, Gotham's mysterious, hm, vigilante."

"Some people might say hero. Or protector."

"Some might. Not the _Gazette_, you'd find. Or any other Gotham news outlet."

Ah. Jason had suspected as much from Tim's comment. That wasn't surprising. It just meant that those in power didn't like the Hawk, and that made Jason like her more. "I can read between the lines."

"You have to, with the _Gazette_," Alfred said wryly. "Is there anything else I can get for you, though?"

"No, thanks Alfred. I'm going to clean up breakfast."

"Oh, no, please don't bother. I will take care of that myself momentarily."

"Come on, it's not like I have anything pressing to do. I'll just—"

"Really, Mr. Todd, if you were to wash that cast-iron skillet inappropriately I should have to resort to violence. Best leave it to me."

Jason raised his eyebrows. Alfred did not break eye contact. Finally Jason nodded and Alfred rewarded him with a smile before leaving him in the parlor where he'd so neatly delivered him.

Alfred had suggested Jason ask Dick about his vanishing act in the kitchen the next time he saw him, and Jason intended to make that sooner than later. He made his usual rounds through the halls, the library, the gallery, the gym (though knowing the gym that was in the cellar made the one Jason had used look hilariously tiny.) He poked his head into the game room and the ballroom, but didn't find Dick anywhere.

He went back upstairs to check Dick's room. The door was closed, but that didn't mean anything; the door was always closed, even when Dick was elsewhere. He knocked lightly, but there was no response. It was very tempting to simply try the handle, but if Dick was inside Jason really didn't want to have to explain himself.

He did go back down to the cellar and the gymnasium. This time he found the light switch on the wall by the dumbwaiter port so he didn't have to wander around in shadows. The gym door at the bottom of the stairs was closed. It was unlocked, but Jason had much less luck finding the light switch in that cavernous space, and the whole place was frigid and echo-y in addition to being dark. Dick clearly wasn't there, so he left.

The other doors in the sub-pantry led to a wine cellar, dry goods storage and extra refrigeration, and an industrial-sized laundry room that had probably been meant for a time when the manor saw much more entertaining.

Eventually, the only place left for Jason to check for Dick was the roof. The weather was much murkier than it had been the first time Jason had ventured up to the third floor sitting room and it changed the entire feel of the space, turning it from slightly stuffy but normal enough to gloomy, grey, and strange.

The curtains were still open, as they had been last time, but now, despite the on-and-off drizzle, one of the windows was open wide as well. It did nothing to relieve the atmosphere, but it did highlight the one warm point in the room: the door at the opposite end from the door to the storage space. It was slightly ajar, yellow light leaking out in an inviting triangle.

If there was a light, there was probably someone there. Jason moved toward the door, then hesitated. It could be Dick, but it might also be Bruce.

Jason shook his head. There was _no reason_ to avoid Bruce in his own house. Sure, Jason had to admit he maybe didn't like the guy much and, okay, actively hated what he was doing to his supposed son locked away in this palatial mausoleum, but—

Yeah, he probably shouldn't run into Bruce. He could feel that irrational temper creeping over him again and that was even more alarming than the time his anger had taken him completely by surprise. Was this what isolation did to you?

He sighed heavily and turned to go.

"Dick? Is that you?" Bruce pushed the door open the rest of the way and looked into the sitting room. He had a coil of thick black cable slung around a shoulder, and his surprised expression when he saw Jason was the most human Jason had seen him look yet.

"Just me," Jason said with a shrug.

"Ah. What brings you up here?" Bruce asked, leaning the loop of cable against a wall. He was dressed casually in a slightly faded plain black t-shirt. His brown, utilitarian work pants had damp, dirty patches on the knees. Having divested himself of the cable, Bruce tucked his hands into his pockets and faced Jason, the very picture of someone trying to look nonthreatening. In Jason's experience, the only people who actively did that were threats.

"Looking for Dick. Seems to be the trend," Jason said. It was fine. There was nothing to be afraid of. The room had three exits. One of them was behind Bruce and one of them led to the roof, but there was still the stairway. And it wasn't like _Bruce Wayne_ was about to leap at him.

Jason checked Bruce's shoulders for shadows anyway.

"I'm glad you boys are getting along."

"Uh, yeah. Hey," Jason started. _Is that why you brought me here?_ is what he meant to say. What came out was, "Is your house haunted?"

Bruce smiled just a tiny amount. "No," he said. "It isn't. Did Dick tell you it was?"

"Yeah. You sound really sure."

"That's because I know Dick."

"No, I mean sure that it isn't."

"That's because I know this house, very well. It's not haunted, Jason, and you have nothing to fear here."

_Okay, but you don't sound surprised by the question, _Jason thought. "Who said I was afraid?"

Bruce nodded. "Good." His voice was laden with approval and that did something a little odd to Jason's chest. Resentment? Pride? Jason filed the feeling away under _Daddy Issues_ to be taken out and examined later. Right now he needed to figure out if he was telling Bruce about Dick's disappearing act in the kitchen earlier this morning.

Alfred had said he would tell him, right? Jason didn't need to. "Well, Dick's not up here. I'm going to go… look elsewhere."

"He's not on the roof today," Bruce said. "It's slick up there."

"Oh. That's where I was going to check next. Thanks."

"Of course. How are you finding your stay?"

"A little strange," Jason said before he thought about it.

"Alfred tells me your luggage is still missing."

"Yeah. The company says it was delivered. But Alfred didn't recognize the signature. Maybe you do?" Jason pulled out his phone and showed Bruce the photo, holding it out at arm's length and watching for Bruce's reaction. Bruce looked at the image carefully, but shook his head.

"That looks like the signature of someone trying hard to make sure no one can read their signature," Bruce said.

"Oh good. That clears things right up," Jason said.

"Would you like me to look into it?"

"You?" Jason asked, startled. "Uh, no, Bruce, that's fine. Alfred and I will take care of it."

"All right. I hope you'll stay a little longer, then. At least through next weekend?"

"Um. At least until Friday," Jason said. "I need to touch base with Talia after that. She'll be expecting my call. We'll see if she needs me somewhere else."

"Needs you? Do you help her with her business, then?" The tone of the question had been completely casual, but Bruce seemed to suddenly be standing straighter. His hands had come out of his pockets.

"Not really, but she is my _mom_, you know? Sometimes she misses me," Jason said with a deliberately light laugh.

"Of course," Bruce said. His hands slipped back into his pockets but he seemed to have forgotten to try to make himself look smaller. "Of course. If Alfred hasn't already told you, feel free to call her any time on the house phone."

"Yeah, he told me. Thanks."

Bruce nodded. "I won't keep you," he said, and took his coil of heavy-duty cable back through the door to whatever room was beyond the sitting room. He closed it behind him.

Jason waited two heartbeats and then walked back to the stairs.

He paused on the dark landing and leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths. Had Bruce paused just slightly before he'd mentioned Talia's… _business_? Jason knew that Talia was involved certain things that she took care to keep him on the edges of, things that might be dangerous or somewhat less than legal, even if he didn't know the details. Was that how Bruce knew her?

Jason revisited the whole "keeping Talia's adopted son for blackmail" theory. Between strange conversations like that, missing luggage, a broken bike, and a possible haunting, Jason was starting to feel just a little nervous.

He considered leaving, weighing the factors. On the one hand, there was his promise to Talia; his curiosity and need for answers; his interest in – no, concern for – no, affection for – well, just Dick in general; Talia's surety that he was safe; and the fact that Bruce knew Talia was expecting a check-in. Lined up against those were Tim's experiences in the manor, which would definitely not qualify as "safe"; the fact that the only explanations he could come up with for his own experiences were drugging and haunting; and the general air of unease that hung about the manor.

There were clearly more (and, to Jason's judgement, more important) items in the "stay" column. And after all, it was only two more days.

Jason did not find Dick that day, but he did find his luggage. It was waiting in his room when he returned there in the evening, along with a note from Alfred:

_Your luggage was delivered mid-afternoon by an extremely apologetic shipping company; it turns out it had been delivered to the wrong address to someone expecting a shipment who signed without looking. Of course the mistaken deliveree realized immediately that your luggage was not the package they had been waiting on, but the signature was electronic and had already been logged so the tracking did not update. The company apologized for the delay and the confusion and will be offering Ms. Head a full refund._

Well. That made perfect sense. Of course, there were an extra four days unaccounted for in there – just _where_ had they misdelivered the luggage, anyway?

Jason checked the cases over. They were hard-sided and zippered: they could be checked on airplanes just like regular suitcases if you didn't have enough money to travel light for extended periods of time.

The locks Jason had secured them with were all intact. There were only two large cases, and even that was more than he'd need for a week's stay, but he hadn't been sure how long he'd be here when he'd packed. He retrieved the key from his duffel and opened both up.

The contents were exactly how he remembered packing them. It would be a relief to be wearing his own things again. Of course, now Dick's old clothes were filling all available closet space, but Jason had dealt with more hardship than that.

Then again, was it worth unpacking if his stay was almost over? Perhaps not. He dug out just what he'd need to wear tomorrow and Friday, including the one old red hoodie he'd included (he hadn't expected to need much long-sleeved wear in Gotham's summer, but the manor was always chilly) and left the rest more or less packed. He took out his shower things, too. His bathroom had come stocked, of course, but the familiar scents of what he was used to would be a comfort. And he was _definitely_ glad to have his own underwear again.

Jason sat bolt upright, roused from a restless sleep by the slight sound of his door cracking open.

"Dick?" he asked. The silhouette he could barely make out in the doorway was Dick's height, but that was about all Jason could tell.

"Jason? What are you doing here?" Dick asked. It was definitely his voice.

"Here in my bed?" Jason asked. "Not sleeping, for one thing. What's going on?"

"That's… a very good question. Can you come with me?"

"Sure. Let me find a shirt. Where?"

"Downstairs. I need to _## ## ####_."

"What?" Jason stuck a finger in his ear and twisted it. "I didn't— what did you say?"

Dick was already moving, though. Jason stumbled out of bed, forgetting the shirt for the moment, and followed him.

There seemed to be something wrong with the lights in the hallway. Most of them were out. Jason could just see the floor under his feet from the moonlight creeping around the curtained window at this end of the hall, and there were one or two lamps working at the other end, but the darkness between made them seem miles away. Dick was a solid shadow moving confidently through the black.

"Hang on," Jason said. "Let me get a light." His voice came out a harsh whisper. Dick turned back to him.

His face was missing.

Jason took a hasty step backward. There were shadows where Dick's eyes should have been, only the vaguest suggestion of a nose, no mouth at all. That didn't stop the thing that wasn't Dick from saying, "Are you coming?"

The sound that came out of Jason came from the back of his throat, something between a moan and a cry of alarm. He turned to dive back to the safety of his room, but the door slammed closed in his face. He grabbed the knob with both hands and turned it frantically, but—

But the Dick-thing wasn't coming for him. It was just standing there, staring (as much as it _could_ stare with no eyes.) Then it turned abruptly and continued walking down the hallway.

Jason stared after it for a moment, still clutching the doorknob like an anchor. Then he made an extremely stupid decision, recognizing even as he did it that it was an extremely stupid decision, and ran after it.

The moment he left his door the darkness sucked him in, even the faint glimmer from the moon and the lamps winking out. He stumbled and fell, his body weightless for a few terrifying seconds, a few terrifying decades.

Then he hit the hall runner on his hands and knees, skidding painfully forward. He groped his way to the wall and blinked furiously, trying to see something, anything. Back pressed to the wall, he edged back the way he'd come, seeking the thin gleam of moonlight he'd left.

He found his door again before he found light, or at least, he found the doorway. The door was open now and Jason fell into his room when the wall he'd been clutching ended abruptly.

The bedside lamp was on. Jason's eyes drank the light as he crouched on the floor, breathing heavily. He crawled to his bed and used the heavy footboard to haul himself up.

Then he immediately let go and dropped back down. There were people in his room.

He peered around the bed. Dick was there, but his back was to Jason. He was talking to someone shorter than he was, a child maybe, but Jason could barely make them out. It was like trying to see through fog. He couldn't hear what Dick was saying, either.

Then Dick turned around and looked right at him. Jason was relieved to see he actually had his face this time.

"Did you hear that?" Dick said.

"No," Jason answered, standing. He'd already been seen; no point in cowering behind the furniture.

But Dick's eyes didn't track him. He stayed staring blankly at the spot where Jason had been. It reminded Jason of a video that needed to buffer. He edged forward carefully.

The almost-person Dick had been talking to didn't look any clearer. Jason stuck out a hand in front of Dick's face and waved it a little.

Dick came to life abruptly and _lunged _at Jason, his face a sudden grimace of determination. Jason barely had time to brace himself for a tackle around the midsection when everything suddenly went dark again, and bitterly, bitterly cold.

He gasped, totally disoriented. He couldn't feel the floor under his feet and he flailed, expecting to fall again.

Instead he sat up in his bed, the lamp on once more, blankets tangled around his legs, and Dick sitting on the edge of the bed with one hand stretched toward him.

Jason jerked away and Dick pulled the hand back. "Sorry, sorry," Dick said. "You were having a nightmare. I heard you from the hall."

"A nightmare?"

"Well it didn't sound like a _good_ dream," Dick said.

"Yeah. I mean, no. It wasn't. It was… weird."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jason was already grasping at the edges of it, trying to hold it together, but it was like his head was full of soup. "It was dark," he said slowly. "I was trying to follow you, or… talk to you." Hadn't there been something he wanted to ask Dick about? Or was that part of the dream? "But you were weird. You had no face." Jason eyed Dick's face just to make sure.

"No face?"

"Yeah, just." Jason gestured to his own features with a hand that felt several pounds too heavy. "Just blank. And shadows."

"Sounds freaky."

"Yeah. Sorry for waking you." Jason leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes. That felt good.

"You didn't. I was up. Are you going back to sleep?"

Jason took stock, eyes still closed. It had been a nightmare, definitely. Just a nightmare. He felt fine now, except that he was very, very tired and cold. "Yeah, I think so." He slid down on the bed, pulling the covers up. "Thanks, Dick," he mumbled.

If Dick responded, Jason didn't hear it; he was out as soon as his head found the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the halfway point (and then some)!


	8. Chapter 8

By all rights, Jason should have felt miserable the next day. Instead he woke feeling refreshed and well rested. He got out of bed, stretched, dressed in his _own clothes_, and got ready to face the day. It was Thursday; he'd told Talia he'd only stay until Friday, but he wanted to call her and get a little reassurance about Bruce and the weird things he'd seen. He figured he'd take a leisurely stroll down the drive until his phone picked up a signal again, and then he could also start making travel arrangements.

He flicked open the lock on his door and headed down for breakfast slightly distracted, dreams and mysteries and travel planning all jostling for attention in his head.

Alfred had left blueberry pancakes warming on a plate in the oven; it was late enough that he was already off and about his duties. He'd left a newspaper for Jason on the counter, too, which Jason acknowledged with exasperated amusement. He browsed it while he ate.

In a continuation of yesterday's theme, there was no sign of Dick this morning. Jason had a hazy memory of talking to him last night in his room before falling back asleep, but if it weren't for that Jason would wonder if Dick was deliberately avoiding him again. Except – _had_ he talked to him? Something was nagging him about that, though it was possibly the fact that he still had no explanation for seeing Dick vanish in front of his eyes yesterday. He was starting to think he'd be leaving this place without any answers at all.

He sighed and turned the page. There didn't seem to be anything about the Hawk in today's paper, but there was plenty about how good everything in Gotham was, how well businesses were doing, how charitable Gotham's First Families were…

Jason rolled his eyes. This was hardly a newspaper. Business might be good, but only if you had the right connections. Gotham's rich were, indeed, charitable when you printed flattering puff pieces about them. He felt bad for wasting Bruce's money on a subscription to this nonsense, before he remembered that Bruce was also one of those fabulously wealthy old money names. Maybe he had the right idea: stay out of the whole sparkling mess that was Gotham power politics and just molder away in his mansion being weird and creepy.

A deep, thrumming bell sounded and Jason started, the paper rustling in his hand. _It tolls for thee_, his brain supplied helpfully.

Jason shook himself and stood. It was the _doorbell_, of course. He left the paper and the remains of his breakfast and headed for the foyer.

Alfred had beaten him there and had just opened the door. "Good morning, Mr. Drake," he said. Jason thought he might have detected the slightest amount of surprise in his voice. That was nothing to the surprise Jason felt.

"Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth," Tim said. "I was hoping to speak with Jason."

"Hey," Jason said, coming up behind Alfred. Alfred smoothly stepped out of the way, holding the door open for Tim.

Tim had sounded normal enough from what Jason had heard, but now that Jason could see him it was clear he was uncomfortable. He was standing as far back from the door as he could without toppling down the front step.

"Uh, why don't we go for a walk?" Jason suggested.

"No," Tim said. "No, it's fine." He eyed the doorframe and then crossed the threshold in one large step. Alfred closed the door softly behind him, but Tim still jumped at the click. He was wearing a backpack and was back to the casual jeans and sneakers Jason had first met him in.

"Have you had breakfast? I daresay there are still plenty of pancakes to go around," Alfred offered.

Tim looked like he might bolt, so Jason stepped in. "I'll take care of him, Alf. I was still finishing up, myself," he said, putting a steadying hand on Tim's shoulder and steering him down the hallway toward the kitchen. Alfred nodded and went off to do whatever he'd been doing before the doorbell had rung.

"I'm guessing you do not want a pancake," Jason said when they reached the kitchen. He shoved the last few bites of his into his mouth and moved the plate to the sink.

"I don't," Tim said. He was looking around the kitchen, curiosity seeming to overcome his discomfort at least for the moment.

"Gotta say, I'm a little surprised to see you here."

"I didn't know how else to contact you. Is… is Dick around?"

"Maybe somewhere," Jason said with a shrug. "I haven't seen him since early this morning. I think."

"You _think_?"

"It was a weird night. Why'd you need to contact me?"

Tim's hands went to the straps of his backpack. "I found—" he stopped abruptly, his eyes going to each of the kitchen's exits in turn. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"This place is so big it probably has a designated Secret Conversation Room," Jason said. Tim didn't laugh. "Uh. Yeah. My room?"

Tim nodded and followed Jason out of the kitchen, down the hall, up the main stairs. His eyes were wide the whole time, taking in the paneling, the portraits, the furniture, every detail. When they made it to the mezzanine he paused just briefly, hand resting lightly on the rail, to peer down into the parlor.

"We came this way," he said softly.

"What?" Jason asked.

"He carried me this way. I remember looking down and thinking I had left my body, that I was floating, because the floor was so far away."

"Are you sure you want to be in here?" Jason asked.

Tim shook his head. "No. But I was kind of hoping to meet Dick."

"Oh," Jason said. "That's not real likely. He's… shy." It wasn't exactly true, but it was the easiest way to explain Dick's dislike of strangers without having to recite nursery rhymes. "Does this mean you're convinced he exists?"

"Hm. The fact that he's mysteriously absent and you're not sure when you saw him last is not helping his case," Tim said. Jason opened the door to his room and gestured Tim inside. Tim went straight to the window and looked down, then pressed his cheek almost against it to look to the side. "They took the trellis down," he said flatly.

Jason closed the door. "Was… was it this room?" he asked.

"No," Tim said. "It wasn't on a corner." Jason's skin crept at Tim's matter-of-fact tone, the back of his neck tingling and the hairs on his arms standing up. Somehow it was suddenly real: he was staying with people who had locked a guest in a room. He'd been telling himself, telling Tim, that there had to be an explanation, but now he realized just how often he'd been saying that, and about how many different things. He shivered.

Tim came away from the window and prowled the perimeter of the room, peering at the walls, the corners of the ceiling. He stopped in front of the wardrobe standing superfluously between the door to the closet and the door to the bathroom and opened it to check inside.

It was empty but for the crumpled duffel Jason had dropped in the bottom of it when he'd arrived. Jason looked in over his shoulder. "Did you think someone was hiding in there?"

"Not exactly," Tim said. He poked his head into the bathroom, and then into the closet.

"Do you want a tour? See if we can find Dick?" Jason offered. He knew it was unlikely they'd run into Dick, just as he'd told Tim earlier. But it would make Jason feel better to set eyes on him. Maybe to touch him.

"No. I'm starting to think we shouldn't be in here at all." Tim went back to the window and looked down again. "Will they stop you if you try to go out?"

"No way," Jason said. "Come on. How could they stop me? Alfred's old, Dick's MIA, and Bruce—" Okay, Bruce was huge. Bruce could stop him. "—never comes downstairs. Let's get out of here, you're clearly freaking a little." _I'm clearly freaking a little_.

Tim straightened. "I'm not— okay, yeah, I am. Sorry."

"Don't be. Come on. We’ll take the back way."

They emerged onto the back patio minutes later and Tim immediately took a breath. "Sorry," he said again. "That place is just… I don't know how you stand to stay there."

"Starting to wonder that myself," Jason said. "Let's head for the temple folly. The marble's clean enough we can sit and you can show me what you brought."

"How do you know I brought something?"

"You normally carry a big old backpack when calling on the neighbors?" Jason asked.

Tim's hands went to the straps again. "Maybe it's full of escape tools."

"Wouldn't mind seeing those, either, then," Jason said, and Tim smiled. Finally.

"Well, you’re right. It's… proof. Of something."

With that cryptic statement, Tim led him off into the grass and toward the trees bounding the property. Here he knew his way around better than Jason did and he guided him unerringly to the folly in question, where they sat on the cool marble with backs against quite sturdy crumbling pillars.

It was a rare partly-cloudy day and the shadows of the trees overhead darkened and faded as the clouds scudded lazily across the sky. Tim set his backpack between them and pulled out a manila folder.

"Take a look," he said.

Jason flipped through it. It was full of printed copies of what appeared to be Dick Grayson's entire life with Bruce Wayne: documentation regarding his status as ward of the state, newspaper articles covering the somewhat controversial sort-of adoption, social worker reports that Jason was pretty sure Tim shouldn't have been able to acquire, homeschooling certificates… it all looked normal and innocuous. Until he came to the end.

There were records of a hospital stay from about eight years ago. The chart noted injuries consistent with a bad fall and made a few notes about the "paranoid mental state" of the patient, one Dick Grayson. An abrupt note at the end stated that Bruce Wayne had discharged the patient against the advice of the doctors shortly after he'd been admitted to the hospital.

"That record has been tampered with," Tim said.

"Really?" Jason asked. "You mean Bruce tampered with it? Why, to make himself look like a huge jerk?"

"I think that's an _improvement _over the initial record, but of course I can't prove it. He was… thorough. But look, right after that there was a sizeable donation to that hospital, and the attending physician retired the very next week and moved to Argentina." Tim handed over another folder that seemed to be dedicated to tracking the movement of Bruce Wayne's money. It was quite a bit thicker than the one Jason currently held. "The Martha Wayne Foundation also gave the city's social services department a generous grant, and you'll note the welfare reports stop after that."

"Hang on." Jason flipped back to the documentation at the front of Dick's folder. It listed his birthdate and Jason did some quick math in his head. "He was eighteen. Since he was technically an adult, the social services visits would have stopped anyway."

"Okay," Tim said, rolling his eyes. "That just leaves the suspicious hospital visit, tampered-with records, a bought-off doctor, and exactly zero record of Dick Grayson publicly available after that visit."

"Dick told me he got into some trouble in the city when he was eighteen," Jason said. "He didn't mention a hospital visit."

He had mentioned he'd been actually scared of Bruce, though. But he'd also mentioned a fairy tale dropping out of the sky to abduct him, and being saved by a masked vigilante. Unfortunately, only one of those three statements didn't seem terribly outlandish.

"He might not remember it. He may have hit his head, or…"

"Or?" Jason prompted.

"Okay, I can't prove that Dick Grayson died that night. But I can't prove he's alive today, either," Tim said.

Jason stared down at the scatter of papers between them. It was absurd. But _something _had vanished right in front of Jason's eyes in the kitchen. _Something_ ran up and down the halls and laughed. Jason had followed _something_ on more than one occasion only to lose it inexplicably around a corner.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "Isn't it more likely that Bruce is just an abusive asshole? Occam's Razor here, Tim. For what you're suggesting to be true, Dick would have to be a ghost. Or I would have to be hallucinating, vividly and consistently," he insisted, desperate for logic to find a foothold.

"Or you'd have to be drugged," Tim said. "And we know they have a history of that."

"Even if that were true, how would I be able to see Dick Grayson? How would I know to hallucinate him telling me about the time he ran away at age eighteen, which just happens to coincide with these hospital reports?" Jason asked, gesturing with the folder.

"I don't know," Tim said. "None of this makes any sense, but can we at least agree that you need to get out of that house?"

"I— what was that?"

Tim and Jason both froze. The trees around them rustled in the slight breeze, but there was something more, a louder rustling coming from directly behind them. It was getting closer. They both turned, peering through the pillars into the shadowed greenery beyond. Overhead, a tree creaked and the sun ducked behind a large, grey cloud and didn't come back out. Without the sun on their skin, the temperature seemed to drop.

A dog barked, not far away but not close either. Jason and Tim looked at each other, Jason wearing a sheepish grin, but Tim looking seriously concerned. "Just a dog," Jason said.

"Odd for one to get all the way over here. Mr. Wayne doesn't have one, and neither do I."

"Maybe it's lost. Hang on, I'll go look." Jason stood and stepped out of the temple just as a breeze picked up and threatened to carry off Tim's papers.

"Jason, hang on— dammit," Tim said, pausing to scrabble together the folders and stuff them in his backpack.

"Hello? Here, puppy," Jason called out into the trees. He whistled a few times and listened. There was movement in the undergrowth to his left, a kind of snuffling that sounded exactly like a dog that had found something interesting to smell and had then gotten excited about something else a few feet away.

Jason followed the sound but couldn't seem to find the dog. It didn't bark again, and it didn't respond to his calls, so he finally gave up and turned to suggest to Tim that they head back to the folly.

But Tim, it seemed, hadn't followed him, and Jason was surrounded only by trees. Great, which way had he come? It was going to be seriously embarrassing if he got lost in the freaking backyard, even if the backyard _was_ several dozen acres.

"Tim?" Jason called. There was no response. Jason sighed and picked a direction.

After a few minutes he had to admit that the direction he'd picked was almost certainly incorrect, because he would have remembered having to pick his way through a thicket of gorse bushes. But by the time he realized how dense they were he was more than halfway through so he figured he ought to keep going.

He came out the other side in a small clearing. There was a tumbled-down pile of stones to one side that Jason thought might be another folly, but that on closer inspection appeared to be the remains of an actual well, one that had fallen into disuse generations ago. The stones ringing it had mostly tumbled in.

Jason left it alone, having no desire to fall in a well today, and crossed the clearing hoping for a thinning of the trees so he could see where he was going. But no sooner had he reached the middle of the space than the rustling that had led him astray in the first place began again.

Or, no, not the exact same rustling. This sounded more determined, like a person pushing through the woods. Jason thought of the footsteps echoing down the halls of the manor and turned toward the sound, bracing himself.

Tim emerged from the trees, looking bedraggled and out of breath, but relieved to see Jason. "There you are," he said.

"Yeah, sorry, got turned around," Jason said, a little embarrassed.

"Come on," Tim said, eyes scanning the clearing. "We're not the only ones— ah." Tim's gaze fixed on something over Jason's shoulder and Jason turned.

Bruce Wayne had walked out of the trees at the other side of the clearing, his shape resolving from the shadows as though he'd just been waiting to be noticed.

"Jason," he said with a nod. "Tim."

The shortened version of Tim's name sounded weird coming from Bruce, Jason thought, and he had the irrational urge to block Bruce's line of sight to Tim. "Hey, Bruce," he said instead. "What brings you out here?"

"Nothing in particular," Bruce said, his eyes not leaving Tim, who shuffled uncomfortably and gripped the straps of the backpack. Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You boys should be careful out here. This part of the grounds has been known to develop sinkholes."

Jason looked uneasily at the ground under his feet. It _felt_ solid enough. "How did you know we were out here?" he asked.

"Alfred mentioned you went exploring. With all the recent rain, I thought I should check on you. At any rate, Alfred is working on lunch so perhaps it's time to head back. Tim, you're welcome to join us, of course."

_And how did Alfred know we came out here? _Jason wondered. Then Tim was at his side, putting a hand on his shoulder, and Jason almost jumped. He'd moved completely silently.

"Actually, I invited Jason over to my place for lunch. Thought it'd be nice to have some company my age in that big old house for a change. Is Dick around? He could come too."

Bruce straightened. Of anyone else, Jason would have said they _stiffened_, but with Bruce it was more like he was making himself more ready to move suddenly if he needed to. Jason had seen the same posture on one of his self-defense instructors, someone he'd made the mistake of thinking would be slow because of his size.

"Dick isn't feeling well," Bruce said. "But I'm sure he'll… appreciate being invited."

Tim's hand on Jason's shoulder felt like a claw and Jason gave him a worried look out of the corner of his eye. Tim's jaw was clenched, but his gaze on Bruce was steady. "I guess we'll get going then," Jason said. "Tell Dick I hope he feels better."

Bruce nodded stiffly. "Don't forget to check in with Talia to discuss your stay," he said to Jason. "I'm sure she's expecting your phone call."

"Uh, yeah," Jason said, a little confused by the apparent change in subject. "I'll call her tomorrow." Tim gave Jason a little nudge in the correct direction (Jason had been _way _off.) and Jason gave Bruce a wave before turning away.

Tim kept his hand on Jason's shoulder until they were out of the clearing and out of sight of Bruce. Then he gave a short, quiet exhale and set off at a brisk pace – not quite running, just a bit quicker than might be considered casual – leaving Jason stumbling once or twice before he caught up and matched it.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked.

"Fine. Yes. Hang on, the wall isn't far."

It wasn't. They came across the broken-down perimeter in just a few yards. Tim seemed to know exactly where he was going. He stepped through a large V-shaped hole in the wall. Jason followed him, avoiding the loose stones that had fallen into the grass.

The other side of the wall looked much the same, though it seemed the trees were a little thinner. It was probably just Jason's imagination that it was sunnier here. Tim set off at an angle to the wall with confidence.

The trees on the Drake estate seemed to be more of a privacy barrier and less actual forest. It wasn't long before they were on grounds that were clearly maintained, paths through stands of trees obvious and well-marked.

"Sorry for abducting you," Tim said. "And thanks for going along with it."

"No problem. Bruce was being extra creepy. And that stuff you found…" Jason shook his head. "I don't know what to make of it."

"You could just leave."

"I'm not leaving Dick in there on his own."

"Even if he's a ghost?"

Jason sighed. The clouds had shifted again, and the sun brightened the mowed lawns to a vibrant summer green. The land was beginning to slope downhill just slightly, and the Drake mansion wasn't far. "That sounds even more absurd when you say it out in the sunshine like this. But yeah, I guess, even if he's a ghost. Or at least, I want proof of what exactly is going on here before I move on."

"Maybe we can help _him_ move on," Tim suggested.

"Maybe we all need a psychiatrist," Jason muttered. Tim just shrugged.


	9. Chapter 9

They approached the Drake mansion from the back. It was built partially into the side of a hill and was much more modern-looking than Wayne Manor. There was a terrace with a pool (actually full and maintained. Jason stuck his hand in it to be sure, to Tim's amusement), a lower patio with a massive brick fire pit and comfortable-looking furniture, and several levels of gleaming windows and balconies.

Inside, nothing was covered with dust cloths. Light streamed in from every one of the abundant windows and the floor plan was much more open, with rooms flowing into each other and far fewer narrow hallways and closed doors. But it still felt empty. Their footsteps echoed. There were no knick-knacks or photos (or portraits for that matter); the furniture looked impersonal and unused.

Jason's phone began buzzing before long, missed calls, messages, and emails popping up as it found a signal and held on. He looked through them quickly while Tim clattered around the kitchen looking for something edible. Like the manor's kitchen, the Drake kitchen was huge and well-appointed, but unlike Alfred's domain this space was strictly functional; there was nowhere to sit, so Jason leaned against a counter dismissing notifications.

Also unlike Alfred's kitchen, this one seemed to be quite short stocked.

"I told you I don't stay here often," Tim said. "I have frozen pizza, bottled water, coffee, a box of elbow noodles and… three potatoes, apparently. We can order in?"

"Frozen pizza's fine," Jason said. "You weren't expecting to be here today?"

"I kind of rushed up as soon as I could when I found those altered records. Usually I go grocery shopping on the way, or if the staff is going to be here I let them know to stock up." He poked a few buttons on the oven to preheat it. "They only come once a week to clean and take care of the grounds, though."

"No wonder you don't stay here often. It's a huge place for one person."

"Yeah. I don't know why I keep it, honestly. But I can't do much with it. The neighborhood is conveniently zoned so that I can't turn it into a community center or a children's home or anything like that. Good old Gotham politics."

"Of course," Jason said. "And, hey, it's your childhood home."

"Wasn't much of one," Tim said, but so low that Jason wasn't sure he was supposed to have heard it.

They ate pizza that was only a little freezer-burned in the "informal dining room" and Tim took him on a tour of the house. That took a while. The rest of the house was as modern and pristine as what Jason had seen so far. There was an impressive home theatre system that Tim mostly used to play video games, things like a "solarium" and a "sun room" that Jason would have sworn were the same thing, and a dozen sitting rooms with furniture Jason would have been afraid to breathe on let alone sit on.

By the end of it, Jason thought he had a pretty clear picture of Tim's childhood, and it wasn't all sunshine and roses despite the obvious means of the Drake family. So when Tim asked him, hesitantly, if he wanted to stay a while, Jason had no trouble saying yes.

"Let me just check in with Talia while we're somewhere with signal and then we can do whatever," he said. They were back on the first floor, having completed their circuit.

"Sure. Want me to go set up a game?"

"Sounds good."

Tim wandered off to give him some privacy, leaving Jason in one of the rooms with patio access. He stepped outside and sat along the low wall of the fire pit and called his adoptive mother.

She answered quickly enough, as she always did when he called from his own number instead of texting or emailing. "Calling to check in?" she asked.

"Yep. Proof of life and all that," Jason said. "Hey, I'm thinking of maybe staying a little longer than a week."

"Oh?" Talia sounded genuinely surprised, and that was rare enough.

"Yeah. Things here are… more interesting than I thought they were."

"You've made friends with the Grayson boy."

"You don't have to sound so exasperated. What did you _expect_ me to do out here?"

"I'm pleased you're enjoying yourself," Talia said. "The Waynes could be worthy allies, in the right circumstances."

"You make it sound so mercenary," Jason muttered. "Maybe I just don't want to leave Alfred's cooking behind so soon."

Talia laughed and, since Jason wasn't on the manor phone line, he gave her a few more details about life with Bruce Wayne. He didn't mention disappearing young men, phantom voices, or anything like that. Sitting out here on the sun-warmed brick, with Talia a million miles away (in Barcelona, she informed him), with fluffy white clouds littering the sky, he couldn't quite bring himself to talk about it. Every sentence he started constructing in his head sounded like it would come from the mouth of a scared child.

There was something he could ask about, though.

"Hey, Talia," he said. "You know Bruce, right? Would he ever— I mean, would he ever hurt anyone?"

"What?" Talia asked, all lazy playfulness gone from her tone. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yes, of course. If I wasn't I'd lead with that," Jason said, running a hand through his hair. "It's just. Something Dick said. About being afraid of him once. And he can be a little. Intense."

Talia hummed, a little thinking sound. "Bruce Wayne is a man capable of violence," she said at last. "But not toward the defenseless." She paused. "That is my assessment based on our brief acquaintance. However, if you feel at all threatened—"

"No, no, I don't. I was more worried about Dick." Jason trusted Talia's judgment; she was the best he'd ever seen when it came to reading people. He'd learned a lot from her himself, and Bruce Wayne didn’t read as abusive to him either. Not exactly.

Tim waved at him from behind the sliding glass door and Jason looked up at the motion. Tim was holding up an empty mug and pointing into it, mouthing _Coffee_? Jason shook his head and Tim shrugged, going to make himself a cup. Jason could see him at the counter through the glass.

"Okay, I should go, I'm being a rude guest. I'm over at the neighbor's mooching off his wifi and cell signal."

"The neighbor's?"

"Yeah, maybe you know him, actually. He's heard of you. Tim Drake?"

"The CEO of Drake Industries? What _are_ you getting yourself into over there, dear one?"

"Ha, ha," Jason said dryly. "Well he'll be thrilled you've heard of him."

"Yes, do give him my regards," Talia said. Jason frowned. That was a bit of a warmer reception than his comments about Dick had received.

"Yeah, sure. I'm not stealing company secrets for you, by the way."

Talia's laugh was full and throaty. "My love, I don't imagine you could if you tried."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Timothy Drake would chew you up and spit you out. If you have an interest in corporate espionage, I'd start you out on someone a little tamer. Lex Luthor, perhaps."

"Gee, thanks," Jason said. "All right, I'm out of here. I've got an appointment to slay some demons with that terrifying pillar of business acumen in there."

"Have fun, dear."

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, hey," he said. Now or never. "Is there any such thing as ghosts?" He said it off-hand, casually. Either Talia would laugh and wonder at his superstitiousness, or she would answer him seriously. He had a vague idea of some of the things she got up to, of the world her father moved in, and hell, there were superpowered aliens and Amazon princesses running around the world, so why not. If anyone would know, it would be her.

"Ghosts? Simply speaking, yes. Why do you ask?"

Her matter-of-fact answer stunned him even as he stood. He hadn't realized until just then how badly he'd been hoping she'd dismiss the question as silly. "There are?"

"Yes. And if you encounter any sort of situation in which a spirit, ghost, specter, or any sort of animated dead person might be involved you are to run in the opposite direction immediately and I will fetch you."

Talia never gave him orders. He straightened, imaginary fingers crawling down his spine. He could just envision her showing up on the manor's doorstep tomorrow morning. How long would it take to get here from Barcelona?

"Uh, right," Jason said. "Run the other way. Got it."

"Jason," Talia said, her tone warning. Just like the time he'd gotten in a street fight (okay, _picked_ a street fight) in Prague just a few months after she'd adopted him. She hadn't been mad about the fight; she'd been mad that he tried to lie about it. "Why do you ask."

"Geez, lighten up Talia. Tim and I were just hanging out and we kind of… freaked ourselves out with scary stories. You know Gotham has like, the most supposedly haunted locations of any city ever and if you could _see_ Bruce's house…" He trailed off meaningfully. He'd gotten a lot better at lying since Prague. Being four thousand miles away helped, too.

"You and the head of Drake Industries scared yourselves with ghost stories?" Talia asked. "The same Timothy Drake who, at nineteen, _Time_ called one of the most ruthless CEOs in the Fortune 500?"

"He's also really good at coming up with plausible theories for wacky shit," Jason said. That wasn't even a lie. "Of course knowing ghosts could actually exist isn't going to help."

"Well. I'm glad you're making friends. Even if they seem likely to give you nightmares."

Jason laughed, though it was a little forced. Nightmares. Right. He shivered suddenly, remembering the one from last night. "Well, I'm going to get going before he thinks I've wandered off for good."

"Very well. Good night, Jason."

He supposed it was, in Barcelona. "Good night, Talia."

"Okay," Tim said an hour later. "That's the third time I've had to save your ass. Your mind isn't on the game. And since the game is already kind of mindless, I've gotta say I'm impressed."

Jason tossed the controller down. "Sorry. I'm just— thinking." His eyes drifted to the folders sitting on the seat of an armchair next to Tim. Tim had brought them without saying a word when they'd settled in to play; Jason got the impression he didn't want to let them out of his sight.

Tim followed his gaze. "Ah. Yeah. And what are you thinking?"

"That I've seen a lot of things I cannot explain," Jason said. "If he is— If Dick is actually— well, what do we do?"

"Do?" Tim echoed. "Um, leave? Get out while you still can?"

"We've gone over this. I'm not just going to leave him. There has to be something I can do to help."

Tim chewed on his bottom lip. "Maybe," he said. "I mean, there has to be research on this stuff, right?" His controller joined Jason's. "I definitely have an extra laptop lying around somewhere. Research party?"

No one, Jason thought, should actually sound excited when saying those words. But he accepted the computer when Tim slid it over to him, even though he had no idea where to start.

It was, it turned out, not wildly different from research into some of the more esoteric folklore topics he'd pursued for his degree. Some of the databases were even the same, and Tim seemed to have access to all of them, even ones Jason had _never_ seen outside of an elderly computer in a library basement.

Tim did most of his work on a tablet, occasionally vanishing and returning with some other vital research component: endless sheets of scrap paper, another computer, more coffee, and an extra tablet just for loading digital versions of books he thought they might need. Jason kind of missed being surrounded by actual books sitting open to the passages he needed, marked with bits of paper and post-its, but this had sort of the same feel.

At some point, Chinese food appeared. Tim just walked out of the room and came back with it several minutes later. Jason hadn't noticed him order anything and hadn't heard the bell, but he ate eagerly enough. Tim had gotten at least half the menu, so Jason's favorites were there by pure odds.

"There's just no way to _tell_," Jason complained, pausing to finish off a carton of chow mein. "Shouldn't there be like, a test or something?"

"This isn't a TV show where you can just fling around some salt and some Latin and get a reaction," Tim said. "Every haunting is different, it seems like. But didn't you say you literally saw him disappear in front of your eyes? That seems like a pretty good indicator."

Jason sat back on the couch and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. But then what? Like you said, every haunting is different."

"A lot of sources seem to agree that if you want the ghost to leave, you have to convince it. Help it move on, or destroy the thing it's holding onto if there is a thing."

"I've got some sources here that say you can push it out," Jason said, shoving aside a few cartons of food and looking for the note he'd made. "Here." He showed Tim.

"This is in case of possession. Doesn't seem like Dick's possessing anyone, does it?"

Jason blinked. "Uh… hope not. Do you have a picture of him?"

There was some flicking of the tablet screen and Tim turned up a picture that was several years out of date. It was still definitely Dick, though.

"Yeah, that's him. Okay, possession ruled out. Do we actually _want_ to help him move on, though? He's not hurting anything."

"He might _be_ hurt," Tim argued. "Being locked in that house with the guy who— well, we don't know what."

"Maybe we should find out. We need to know when this happened, or maybe happened. Were these injuries from Dick getting into trouble in Gotham? Or did they happen after?" Bruce had been angry, angry enough that Dick had been frightened of him, Jason remembered.

"And how do we figure that out?" Tim asked. "Ask Mr. Wayne? Dick's already made it pretty clear he won't say a word against him, from what you've said."

"That's the other thing. How come Bruce is just living with the ghost of his dead son?"

"Maybe he's punishing himself. Or maybe he likes having some kind of control over him. Or, hell, maybe that's why he's such a recluse: maybe Dick won't let him leave."

"We saw him on the grounds today. And he was a recluse before Dick died." Jason shook his head. "Maybe died. Hypothetically died."

"Just throwing ideas out there."

"I know. I'm just not— I don't— I need to think about this," Jason said. He glanced out the window of the sitting room they'd taken over. "It's going to be dark soon. I should get back before I can't see where I'm walking."

"Offer's open to stay here. I'll point out that we _also_ don't know what Wayne wants with you."

"And the only way to find out is to go back."

Tim squinted at him. "Where do you get off being this reckless?"

"Couldn't really tell you. But wouldn't you like a non-haunted neighbor?"

"Not badly enough to willingly put myself in the middle of that den of vipers. And _sleep_ there."

Jason grinned at him. "Tomorrow's Friday, though. Bruce never misses Friday night dinner – at least that's what Alfred says. And I get the impression Dick usually doesn't either. If he eats…"

Tim snatched up his tablet and flipped through a few pages, then turned it to face Jason. "It doesn't prove anything," he said. "Some ghosts eat."

"That could be a bad translation."

"Your face is a bad translation," Tim muttered. Jason grinned at him.

"Maybe," he said. "But I'm still going back."

"I could drive you," Tim offered. "If you want to stay later and don't want to walk back through the wall after dark."

Jason almost turned him down again, but then he thought of how big the place was, and how Tim had run to the manor the minute he'd found anything, trying to help someone he'd only just met with an issue that ultimately wouldn't much affect him. "Yeah, all right. Pass the rice, would you?"

Tim delivered Jason back to the manor's front step in a zippy little red Lamborghini that he clearly knew how to handle for much longer trips than the five minutes it took to go from one mansion to the next. He insisted that Jason take a sack of sealed water bottles with him, just in case, and probably would have foisted the elbow noodles and potatoes off on him too if Jason would have let him. He _did_ include a few other supplies – candles, a silver knife, a tablet with certain pertinent information downloaded to it (and a copy on Jason's phone, too, as a precaution) – hidden under the water.

Jason waved him off a little uncertainly when Alfred opened the door. They'd come up with a plan after a few more hours of research. They'd found a… Jason hated the word, but for lack of a better one, _ritual_ that seemed to have the most support across cultures and hauntings for actually working. It involved recreating the ghost's death to help it move on, though, and Jason wasn't sure he could bring himself to put Dick through that. They'd agreed that the most likely cause of death was a bad fall, but there were still a lot of question marks.

So. Jason would return to the manor. He would think. Tim would go back to his mansion and keep an eye out for Jason's signal – he happened to have a telescope and there was a window in one of the sitting rooms with a line-of-sight on Jason's window. If Jason decided they needed to go through with this plan that he still couldn't believe he was even considering, he would stick a few of the hot pink post-its Tim had given him in the window, and Tim would come to help.

And they would kill Dick Grayson a second time.

There was no way Jason was going through with that, though. Not without at least talking to Dick about all of this. But that meant he would have to find him, and so far that was proving difficult.

Jason had made a few cursory checks for him in his favorite spots – not the roof, though, not at night – but hadn't found him. He'd gone back to his room and was now sitting on the edge of his bed, face in his hands, wondering how he'd gotten to this point.

There was no way Dick was a ghost. There was _no way_. There was no way two grown men were just sitting here minutes away from one of the biggest cities in the country being _haunted_ and just… just going with it.

But ghosts were real. Talia had said so. He and Tim had found scads of research, once they'd looked a little deeper than the usual ghost chaser blogs and most-haunted sites. There was apparently a dead guy out there who possessed other people to carry out the will of a goddess. There was a specter that thought he was the wrath of God. There were, Jason had to admit, more things in Heaven and Earth.

He flopped back onto his bed. He wanted to talk to Dick about it. Really talk to him. Hold him down and demand answers, if he had to.

He stood abruptly and left the room, padding back down to the kitchen. It was late by now, the silence of the house taking on the thick, tenebrous quality large spaces did when no one was moving through them. He flicked on lights where he could, where it was possible to flick them off again when he left the hall he was passing through so he didn't leave a trail of light behind him. When he got to the kitchen he paused in the doorway, then quickly turned on the light, like he was going to catch something by surprise.

The kitchen was empty. Jason went and stood directly in front of the fridge. It wasn't cold, like some of the things he'd read had said a place where a ghost appeared might be. But then, the whole manor was cold all the time.

"Dick?" he said softly. "Are you here?"

He waited.

He thought he felt a tingle across his shoulders and turned quickly, but the room was still empty.

"Come on," Jason said. "I want to help you. Can't do it if you're hiding all the time, you know?" Not strictly true. The instructions he and Tim had cobbled together should force the ghost to appear, if he wasn't already standing in front of them. Jason supposed _that_ would be a good test: start the ritual, and if no ghost appeared then Dick wasn't a ghost. That, or the ritual wasn't as legit as they thought it was.

Jason rested his head against the cool stainless steel of the huge refrigerator and thought.

_"Based on these injuries, the fall would have been, oh, twelve feet?" Tim said._

_"So not from the roof."_

_"Definitely not."_

Not the skylight, either, or the trapeze set-up in the basement. They'd finally decided on the mezzanine. It was the right height for Dick's injuries. Even if they didn't know where Dick had really died, that should be close enough for the ritual according to Jason and Tim's morbid calculations. They had sat there, looking at bruises and broken bones, and picked out the best place in the manor to recreate those injuries.

"God, this is horrible," he said to himself. Either he was staying with a ghost, a ghost and a murderer, or just a regular guy who covered up his kid's injuries and kept him secluded from the world.

But Talia trusted Bruce, enough to send Jason here alone. So maybe he was staying with an accidental ghost and his mourning father, who was understandably eccentric after years living in a house with the ghost of his dead son.

His son who died at eighteen and definitely didn't look eighteen today.

Jason shook his head. He had no idea what he was doing. He dithered for a few more seconds, then left the kitchen, heading to the office slightly down the hall where he knew there was a phone line. It would be very early in Barcelona, but Talia wouldn't mind. He needed to talk this through with a neutral party: none of Dick's evasive comments, Alfred's polite deflections, Bruce's intense stares, or Tim's conspiracy theories. He just needed to convince her not to whisk him away. 

He picked up the phone and—

"_Please._"

Jason froze, the receiver at his ear. There was a quiet hiss over the line, but Jason had been sure he'd heard—

"…please answer…"

Jason held his breath. The voice on the line was quiet, almost obscured by the static in the background, but it was definitely male. Dick?

"Bruce," the voice breathed, then stopped abruptly as the hiss of white noise swelled and receded. "…please, please…"

Jason had covered his mouth without realizing it, clutching the phone in a white knuckled grip, mind racing. This clearly wasn't a phone call he was just overhearing. This was something else. His fingers were cold where they wrapped around the plastic.

"_Can I come home?_" the voice whispered.

Jason slammed down the receiver much more harshly than he should have and ran from the office. He closed the door firmly behind him and put his back to it, looking up and down the hall, eyes wide. He lunged for the stairs like he was grasping after a life preserver in a shipwreck and stumbled up them, running down the hall, not looking over the edge of the rail into the parlor as he went. His room. The worst that had ever happened to him there was a bad dream. Even Dick had said, once, that it was quiet in his room.

He fetched up at his door breathing heavily, his hand tingling as warmth returned to it. Across the hall, Dick's door was closed, as ever. Jason stared at it, his hand on his own doorknob, before flinging himself across the hall and knocking, three times.

"Dick?" he called. "Dick, come on, please, I really need to talk to you." Jason's heart sped up with each second that passed with no answer. He looked up and down the hall, once, twice. Was the darkness thicker, there, by the mezzanine?

He couldn't stay out here. He left Dick's door and took shelter in his own room, locking the door behind him. One deep breath, slow. Being scared could kill a person, couldn't it? Was that what Talia meant by dangerous? Probably not. She had a different scale for dangerous.

"Nothing hurt you," Jason said to himself. "You're fine. You're fine." He kept his back to the wall and edged along it until he could crawl into the bed. The lamp stayed on that night.


	10. Chapter 10

Jason woke hoping the events of the previous night had been a dream, but he remembered them too clearly for that to be possible. The bag Tim had given him was on the nightstand where he’d left it last night, and he reached out to touch it just once before turning to his phone. Going through the documentation one more time gave him an excuse to stay in bed a little longer while he gathered the courage to face the day. 

Jason was decent at dead languages; he'd picked up a little here and there during his studies, but he wasn't super familiar with the Akkadian this ritual was written in. He knew the look of the language and might have been able to pick out a few proper names, but that was it. Tim had transcribed a phonetic pronunciation for him, because Tim knew Akkadian, apparently. Jason was beginning to see what Talia had meant about him.

He ran a finger down one of the lines. He knew, in general, what the gist of the ritual was, but he wished he knew the meaning of the actual words he'd be saying. Was a little Latin too much to ask?

Leaving his room was distinctly unappealing, but Jason had a mission: he needed to find Dick. He got dressed and took one last deep breath before he stepped out into the hallway, crossing at once to Dick's door and knocking.

No answer. Based on the amount of sunlight invading around the curtains in the hall, Jason had slept in. It was probably closer to lunch time than breakfast, so Dick probably wasn't even in there. Which meant Jason had a whole manor to search. Again.

He followed his nose down to the kitchen to begin with. Alfred was there, and it looked like tonight's dinner was already underway. There was a pot of marinara sauce on the stove and Alfred was kneading a lump of dough into submission.

"Good morning, sir," Alfred greeted him.

"Morning, Alf. Phones back up?"

There was the tiniest of pauses in Alfred's kneading. "Had the lines gone down again? I'm afraid I had not noticed."

"Yeah, tried to make a call last night but there was some kind of interference," Jason said, watching Alfred's face.

"Terribly sorry about that. These things often clear up on their own, though. I would suggest trying again today." Alfred was inscrutable.

"Yeah, I'll do that. As soon as I talk to Dick. Have you seen him?"

"I believe he was on his way up to the roof. Oh— won't you eat something before you go? You just woke up," Alfred said when Jason turned to leave.

"I'll just wait for lunch. I want to catch Dick before he vanishes again."

Jason headed upward, ducked through the stuffy sitting room on the third floor and into the storage space that held the door to the roof. It was closed, though, and Jason couldn't find any way to pull the trap door steps down. He could see the loop where normally a string would hang, but there was no way to reach it. Had Dick taken whatever he used to open the door up onto the roof with him and closed it behind him? Did ghosts need stairs?

Jason looked around for something to stand on, even going so far as to peer under a few of the dust sheets. They concealed cardboard boxes and antique looking steamer trunks, but nothing Jason would feel confident about standing on. Jason glared at the ceiling for a while and debated yelling _DICK _at the top of his lungs, but remembered that Bruce's rooms were on this floor. He'd rather not talk to him before he talked to Dick.

He went back downstairs (forget going to the gym, living in this house was a daily workout without even trying) and out onto the back patio, craning to look up at the roof. He backed a good ways onto the lawn, but couldn't catch a glimpse of Dick if he was up there. Now that he was outside, though…

"Hey, Dick!" he shouted. No response. "I know you're up there, Dick!" Nothing. All right, so Dick was actively avoiding Jason. Great. He thought they'd gotten past this. Why, though? Could Dick somehow know what Jason and Tim were planning – _maybe_ planning – to do?

A curtain on the third floor twitched and Jason zeroed in on it. Bruce's rooms? He couldn't see who'd moved the curtain but Bruce had probably heard him hollering. Well, let him come down here and do something about it since it seemed Jason wouldn't be talking to Dick any time soon. Jason stared defiantly up at the window until he started doubting he'd actually seen anything move after all, and then he went back inside.

He paced to the small gym, changed his mind, stomped over to the library, changed his mind again, and ultimately turned around in place three times before acknowledging that his mind was a mess and he needed to settle it.

Luckily, Alfred was still in the kitchen, and while he might not give Jason answers at least he wasn't frightening and knew how to carry on a conversation.

"Did you find Master Dick?" Alfred asked, looking up from a recipe card when Jason appeared in the doorway.

"Not exactly." Jason jabbed a finger at a pile of potatoes next to the sink. "Those need peeling?"

"Yes, but—"

"Cool." Jason plucked up the peeler and a potato, stopping only at the barest touch of Alfred's hand on his arm. "Come on, Alf, I gotta do something or I'm going to go insane."

"Indeed. But the potatoes do not need to be peeled _now_. Perhaps you might help me prepare a lemon curd for the dessert, though."

Jason had never made a lemon curd, so the conversation for the next while was mainly instructions and the casual chatter that emerges around two people working on the same dish.

"You needn't help at all," Alfred said, gently stirring the curd while Jason had moved on to mixing pastry dough. "The dinner is for you, too, after all."

"What else am I going to do? Dick has gone back to avoiding me and dinner's not for hours."

"I had thought that perhaps you might see your friend Tim again," Alfred said.

"Oh. We just saw each other yesterday. He's busy running a company, you know," Jason replied. Had Alfred sounded suspicious, or was that his imagination?

"Well, I am glad you will be joining us for dinner. I believe Master Bruce will appreciate the company."

"Sure. But Dick would be there even if I wasn't," Jason said. _Probably more likely if I wasn't_, he thought with an internal sigh.

"Perhaps," Alfred said. "He has been… well, it's not for me to say."

"I haven't seen him since…" Jason thought about it. "Night before last. I was hoping he'd be at dinner tonight."

"I hope so as well. Though I can assure you, Master Dick is well enough. And remember, you were gone for most of the day yesterday."

"That's true," Jason allowed. "But Bruce said Dick was sick when Tim invited him to come with us. Did Bruce even pass the invite along?"

"Ah, Master Bruce does worry over Dick to what some might call an excessive degree. Here, now, don't overwork that dough," Alfred said, directing Jason's attention back to what his hands were doing.

It did not escape Jason's notice that he hadn't answered the question, but it was clear Alfred was done discussing the affairs of his employer, at least where they concerned Dick. If Alfred's eyes flicked once or twice to the spot in front of the refrigerator and lingered there slightly as they assembled an array of tarts for that evening, well, Jason's did too.

Alfred finally exiled Jason from the kitchen after lunch, insisting that he would call him if he required assistance and that Jason should be out enjoying what sun could be found, or else relaxing. Jason had had about all of the relaxing he could take this week. He found himself in front of Dick's door again, knocking.

"Dick? Hey, I've got nothing to do today. You want to have a movie day? You can pick," he said. He listened for a few moments, not really expecting an answer. He didn't even know if Dick was in there, of course, or if he was still on the roof.

Jason made his way to the theater room retracing the route Dick had showed him and hoping he didn't accidentally pop up in Bruce Wayne's powder room or something. But he made it to the theater without mishap, put in a movie more or less at random, and settled in.

He fell asleep at some point, the old-quality audio, the steady flicker of the black and white film, the squashy recliner, and a restless sleep the night before combining to lull him into an easy slumber. For once he did not dream, and woke feeling muzzy and disoriented to find the DVD menu replaying itself. There were no windows in the movie room and he was somehow surprised to find sunlight in the hallway when he eased the door open; surely he had been asleep for at least twenty years.

Well, maybe this was an afternoon twenty years down the road. The thought was more appealing than it should have been. If it had been a couple of decades he wouldn't have to worry about ghosts anymore because Talia probably would have razed the place looking for him. Based on its intact state he'd have to assume he'd only been out a few hours.

Jason peered out a window just down the hall from the movie room. The view from the third floor was fantastic. The property had a gradual slope downward, putting the manor effectively at the top of a hill. He could see Tim's house poking through the trees next door, but behind the manor the trees and grounds seemed to stretch on forever.

All that beauty and Bruce Wayne kept his curtains closed. What was wrong with that guy. Jason turned from the window with a shake of his head and realized that the hallway turned in a direction he hadn't been before. When he and Dick had come up here to watch movies, they'd gone straight from the stairs to the theater and back, but it looked like there was more to explore back here.

Thinking that there was probably another way to get to the third floor sitting room, or maybe even another staircase, but mostly thinking that he was bored, Jason followed the hallway. There were a few closed doors, including one very impressive set that screamed _master suite_ which Jason edged past carefully. But the hall ended in an ordinary door.

An ordinary door that was slightly ajar. Jason paused when he heard voices.

"…easier if you were there." That was Bruce, no mistake. Jason checked his mental map of the manor. That was probably the room that connected to the sitting room. An office of some kind?

"I don't care." Dick. Jason crept a little closer. "He was _here_, Bruce. You promised."

"I know. All the more reason to finally fix things."

"Fix them? You're making them worse," Dick snapped. "You have no idea what you're doing. And while you're so focused on your weird obsession, the Court gets closer every day."

"They can't touch you, Dick."

"Yet."

Dick's voice got much closer and Jason realized he had nowhere to hide if Dick suddenly left the room. He backed away as quickly as he could, scrambling back up the hall and around the corner. He ducked back into the movie room just as he heard the door slam. He counted off paces in his head, and stepped out in the hall just when he figured Dick would be passing by.

The hall was empty. Jason went back to the end and peered around the corner.

Also empty. Had Dick been faster than Jason had anticipated? Surely he hadn't simply vanished (again?) Maybe he'd gone through one of those other doors in the corridor. Jason tried a few handles, but found only a linen cupboard and what appeared to be a few spare rooms. He thought for a few moments before even trying the master suite doors, and was fairly relieved to find them locked. Very aware that Bruce was just one closed door away, he went back up the hallway and found the stairs.

Dinner was beef brisket marinara with mashed potatoes, Madeira-glazed carrots, and fresh-baked dinner rolls. It was delicious. The company, however, left a little to be desired.

"I take it Dick's not joining us," Jason commented. The third place had been set, but Dick had not appeared and Alfred didn't seem to be expecting him since he served promptly.

"Apparently not," Bruce said.

"Is he still sick?"

"No," Bruce said. "He's feeling just fine."

"Haven't seen him around much," Jason tried.

"Yes, I know."

Jason gave an internal sigh and focused on his potatoes. Despite how good the food was, he could barely bring himself to eat. He felt like he'd swallowed a stone, and for once the manor seemed too warm. His nerves getting to him, probably.

"Jason," Bruce said after a little while.

"Bruce," Jason replied.

"I'm glad you've decided to stay. I need to ask you a favor."

Jason looked up. Finally. "I've been wondering why you were keeping me around."

Bruce frowned. "No, this isn't why I asked you to come here. I couldn't have foreseen— well, maybe I could have, but I didn't. At any rate, this favor isn't related to your visit. You and Timothy Drake are getting along, yes?"

Jason felt his hackles rise. "Yes," he said cautiously.

"Do you think he would come over if you invited him?"

"I don't know," Jason said slowly. "He's kind of spooked about this place." _However, I happen to have a pre-arranged signal and he'll come when I call so we can exorcise your son, _he did not say.

"Yes," Bruce said. "I regret that he's had such a negative experience here. But I have been wanting to set it right."

"And you think I'll help."

"I hope you will."

Jason forced another bite of carrots to give himself time to think. This could be very convenient, if he played it right. He took a long swallow of water (Alfred had offered a very nice wine, but Jason had zero intention of being anything remotely like intoxicated in this house; Alfred had brought a pitcher of ice cold water with lemons floating in it instead.) "I think maybe. He… he's been interested in meeting Dick," he said. "If Dick was okay with it and agreed to meet, I think I could get Tim here."

That would take care of actually getting Dick in one spot long enough to talk to him. It would also handily get Jason a second opinion on this whole nightmare.

Bruce, though, gave him such a hard look that Jason wanted to hide under the table.

"What?" Jason asked.

"That's a strange request."

"He's curious about the guy he's been living next to for his whole life who he's never met," Jason said with a shrug. "Not even when he did come over here the one time. You know, when he got sick." _That's right, Tim told me all about that. Your move._

Bruce leaned back in his chair. "You are a very interesting young man, Jason."

"Thanks," Jason said flatly.

"People seem inclined to share with you."

"You don't," Jason said. Oh, that was reckless. Had the temperature just kicked up a few degrees? He wiped his palms on his jeans surreptitiously.

But Bruce smiled. "Oh, I don't have anything to share. But I'll talk to Dick if you'll get in touch with Tim. Say, perhaps, tomorrow for lunch?"

Jason paused with a bite halfway to his mouth. "How, exactly, do you think I'm going to get in touch with him before lunch tomorrow? There's no reception in this place. I can't just text him."

"I assumed you two had figured out a means of communication." Jason had never noticed just how pale a blue Bruce's eyes were. Like ice. "But there's always the landline." Was he _laughing_ at Jason?

"Sure. I'll call him tomorrow morning, then, once you've had a chance to talk to Dick. But, like, he's a CEO you know."

"I am aware."

"He might be busy."

"We'll see."

"And you're sure Dick would be okay with it?"

"I can convince him. I'll let you know otherwise."

"Oh. Well. Well, all right then."

They ate in silence for a while, but Jason still felt flushed. Like he was being watched, like every movement he made was being analyzed and dissected. He only managed to finish half his meal before it became unbearable.

"I… excuse me, I'm not feeling well," he managed, shoving his chair back from the table. Bruce looked up at him, startled, and Alfred actually stepped forward in concern, but Jason was already hurrying from the room, feeling an inexplicable sense of relief when the dining room door swung shut behind him. The hallway was dark and cool, as usual.

But they might follow him.

He hurried to the main stairs and climbed, clutching the railing. Something was off. The stairs seemed like they were different heights. Or was that his eyes? He realized he was listing to the right and away from the rail when his shoulder brushed the wall. He had to stop at the top of the stairs to catch his breath.

He just needed to lie down. The hallway to his room wavered in front of him and he practically dragged himself along the left wall to give the railing overlooking the parlor a wide berth. Spots danced in his vision like gnats and no amount of blinking or head shaking would clear them.

Somehow he made it to his bedroom. In fact, he was sitting on the plush carpet, his back against the door, with no idea how he'd gotten there and his only thought to make it to bed so that he could sleep. His body felt so heavy.

He dragged himself to the footboard and pulled himself up, then tumbled over it onto the mattress. He tugged his legs in and clutched the blankets as the whole room bobbed and dipped. Having his eyes closed felt better and he pressed his face into the bed, curling in on himself and wishing everything would just _stop_. His focus drew inward, as if he could will the discomfort, the nausea, the vertigo, away.

The thought crossed his mind that this was familiar. That if he had been young – thirteen, say – he would have needed to be carried.

_I need to check that the door isn't locked_, his brain insisted.

_It locks from the inside. It's a twist lock. They literally can't lock me in,_ he insisted back.

There was a distant, dull thudding. Ghost steps running up and down the hall again? His heartbeat? Someone trying to get into his room? Had he locked the door.

Jason opened his eyes a crack and squinted at the door, but he couldn't tell if he'd locked it. He didn't remember closing it at all.

_Thump_.

The door vibrated, a shock of yellow light limning it briefly before fading and then throbbing to brightness again with another muffled _thump_. It pulsed, and Jason knew the door was going to bow inwards, break, at any moment. He scrambled out of bed and lurched across the room to the window overlooking the garage.

He shoved it open a few inches and then stopped as a waft of warm outside air hit him. He gulped it down, resting his head against the glass before slowly turning to look at the door again.

It was not thrumming or glowing or doing anything a door shouldn't.

_Poisoned_, Jason thought. _You've been poisoned. Do not jump out the window, that will not help._

He closed the window carefully and went back to the door to check that he'd locked it. The trip across the room took a long time because the carpet kept moving. Putting his fingers to the lock, confirming by touch that he had, indeed, locked it, took the last of his strength. He dropped to his knees in front of the door and then slowly sank to the side. He fell asleep – or perhaps lost consciousness – curled in front of the door.

It was dark when Jason woke, but his phone told him it would be light soon. He had the world's worst hangover, which really wasn't fair. His headache and sour stomach were not helped along by the stiffness that came of spending an uneasy night on the floor. He'd tripped in and out of sleep, dreaming of ghostly hands reaching from the door behind him and pulling him through into a dark tunnel. He vaguely recalled waking long enough to crawl away from the door, but shadows reached out from under his bed when he neared it and he ended up in more or less the same spot he'd started.

He got hesitantly to his knees and inched slowly upward. Everything was cramped. He stumbled into the bathroom and stuck his fingers down his throat, thinking even as he did it that it was probably too late to do any good. He vomited thoroughly into the toilet and then stayed there with his forehead pressed against the cool tile of the floor for a while.

Then the chill began to sink in too far and he forced himself up again. He ran the water in the sink to rinse out his mouth, then thought better of it and went and got one of the bottles of water Tim had forced him to take. He used part of it to rinse and drank the rest.

The light in the bathroom had a yellow halo around it. Jason turned it off and walked very carefully back into the bedroom. Something didn't make sense about this whole situation, but Jason couldn't drag his thoughts into order. There was something he should be doing, something that would help… something to do with Dick.

The doorknob wouldn't turn, which gave Jason a momentary panic until he remembered he'd locked it himself. He unlocked it and fell out into the hallway, landing heavily against Dick's door.

"Dick?" he called, though it came out as more of a croak. "Come on, don't be dead," he begged the door. "I really don't want you to be dead, that would be ext— exst— extem— very scary." His hand dropped to the doorknob and turned. It was locked. That meant Dick had to be inside, right? "I'm worried about you," Jason said. He sounded drunk, even to his own ears. "And I've been poisoned."

Nothing.

What if Dick had been poisoned too? He had to help him.

"I'm coming in!" Jason called. He'd go get his lockpicks and then— "Oops." His brain had said 'pick the lock' but his body had decided 'break the lock' was better. His shoulder hurt where he'd rammed himself against the door.

It was a very sturdy door.

He went back to his room, wondering why he seemed to be starting to feel worse rather than better. His lockpicks were in the soles of his boots. They were carbonfiber, designed to not cause TSA agents any undue stress. After all, he was only carrying them in case of an emergency.

Like his ghost friend being poisoned.

He felt like his hands should be shaking, but they were surprisingly steady, and it wasn't a particularly complex lock. There _was_ a disembodied voice that sounded exactly like Talia whispering in his ear and offering pointers on his technique but, well, she was right so he accepted the tips and the lock popped open in no time.

He pushed the door open. "Dick?" he asked. "You okay in there?" There was no reply. Jason turned on his phone's flashlight.

Dick's room was a mirror of his, though it clearly belonged to someone who had lived there for a long time. The desk was cluttered with the normal detritus desks accumulate: scrap paper, paper clips, a mug and plate that had probably been forgotten, and other odds and ends. There was a TV on a sturdy end table in eye-line of the bed. And as for the bed—

It was empty. Dick wasn't there, and he wasn't in the room. The bathroom?

_It doesn't make any sense_, Talia said in his ear.

"I know," Jason replied.

_Why would he poison you if he wants you to arrange a visit with Tim?_

"Well it's not like the flu comes with auditory hallucinations," Jason muttered. "Plus I'm feeling _very_ suggestible right now and I imagine that would help his cause."

Jason closed Dick's door behind him. He could see from here that the bathroom was dark. The bed wasn't made, but it wasn't a mess either. He took a closer look, running a hand over the covers just to make sure it really was empty.

_It doesn't make sense_, Talia said again.

"What doesn't?" Jason asked absently. There was no response. Jason squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his brain to work. What was wrong here? Dick wasn't in the room. He should have been. Why should he have been? Because the door was locked. The door locked from the inside. Some of the doors in this house _could_ lock from the outside, but not this one.

Jason sank onto the bed and gripped the edge of it. His muscles felt shaky, like he'd been running. He blinked and found himself on his side, staring straight ahead. He wasn't sure how long he'd been like that, but did the room seem a little lighter?

He blinked a few more times, hoping his vision would focus. It did. He was staring at a wardrobe, twin to the one in his room. The door was slightly ajar.

"Are… are you hiding?" Jason wondered. "Oh. I probably scared you. God, Dick, I'm sorry," Jason said, lurching to his feet and going to the wardrobe. "I didn't think. I'm not—" He opened the door, but Dick was not there. And the wardrobe was not full of clothes.

Jason was greeted with a conspiracy theorist's dream. Photographs, newspaper clippings, and notes were pinned to the back of the wardrobe and to the door. There were strings connecting some things. In the bottom of the wardrobe was a laptop. A laptop with an Ethernet cable snaking out through a hole in the back of the wardrobe.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," Jason said, dropping to his knees and opening the computer. It didn't look particularly new, but it wasn't ancient, either, and it turned on easily enough. While he waited for it to boot, Jason examined some of the nest of documents surrounding him.

Articles about the deaths of the Graysons, the deaths of the Waynes, the deaths of… oh, the Drakes. There were a few newsprint pictures of Tim up there, too, and some glossy prints of what looked like gravestones.

"Wardrobe of morbidity," Jason muttered. Part of Dick's Court of Owls paranoia? Or was this all old, from before he'd… maybe died? He stood up to get a closer look at the graves and was surprised to see that they appeared to be somewhere on the manor grounds. He thought he recognized one of the follies in the distance. He hadn't come across a cemetery out there, though he'd probably only wandered a fraction of the grounds.

The other photo was in a similar location based on the background – probably a family cemetery – but the headstone…

Jason grabbed the picture from its pin and held it closer to his face. It was poorly developed, like a double exposure on very old film taken in bad light. But he could read the name on the stone.

_Jason Peter Todd_


	11. Chapter 11

Tim slunk into the Early Bird Diner with his hood pulled up and sunglasses firmly on his face.

"You look like a hoodlum," Steph said as he slid into their regular booth.

"As long as I don't look like Tim Drake," Tim said. He lowered the hood and stuck the glasses on top of his head since they'd been mostly for the trip over. In here they'd just attract more attention. "You got the goods?"

Steph rolled her eyes and slid a notebook across the table. "I don't know why I'm enabling you."

"Because I'm buying you waffles and coffee."

"Oh, yeah. That's why."

Tim flipped through the notebook. "Kant this week, huh?"

"You could just come to class. It's not like Ethics 101 is a real brain drain."

"Too busy. And your notes are good enough," he said with a grin.

"Good enough for you to get up at the crack of dawn, apparently. You look like death warmed over," Steph said. She had a hot chocolate in front of her. "I ordered your coffee already. Looks like you need it."

"It's five AM. I don't understand how you _don't_ need it," Tim grumbled.

"My secret is not going to sleep in the first place," Steph said wisely. "Don't worry, I'll crash as soon as I'm full of carbs and home in my bed."

"Next semester I get to pick the time."

"Hey, you're not the only one with a busy schedule, Mr. CEO. I got things to do, naps to take, you know how it is. This is when I could fit you in, take it or leave it."

The waitress came by with Tim's coffee and took their orders with a small smile since they never changed: banana waffles for Steph, pancakes and bacon for Tim. The kitchen knew, too, because the waitress had barely handed over the ticket before she had two hot plates ready to bring back to them. Tim started taking careful pictures of Steph's notes while she dug in.

"And, I'll remind you," Steph went on, as though they hadn't been interrupted by the business of acquiring food. "You're the one who insisted on making it a meal thing. It only takes you like two seconds to copy everything."

"Hm. Maybe I just like talking to you," Tim said, glancing up from the notes with a smile.

Steph rolled her eyes. "I doubt you like talking to me so much that you opted for summer classes. What's up with that? If you're so busy, why not take the summer off like most students?"

"Just trying to get the whole degree thing out of the way," Tim said. He closed the notebook and slid it back across the table to her. "Once I have that stupid piece of paper, that's one less weapon in the opposition's armory."

"So dramatic," Steph said, dunking a chunk of waffle in her hot chocolate.

"Maybe," Tim said. He started crumbling his bacon over the pancakes. "How's the roommate?"

"Fine. Still smarter than you."

"You have to let me meet her some day."

"I should never have showed you how she hacked my phone. You're obsessed. You're using me to get to my roommate," Steph said with a prim toss of her hair.

"No, I'm using you for your notes," Tim said. "Getting to meet and possibly recruiting a tech genius would be a bonus."

"You're wasting your time, Tim. Babs has her own stuff going on. She's not interested in your, quote, capitalist ant farm."

"So you've mentioned me to her!"

"What, did you think I was sneaking out to breakfast all clandestine?" Steph rolled her eyes. "I always tell her where I'm going. She worries."

"Well— oh, sorry, hang on." Tim's phone was chiming his "you-don't-know-this-person" ringtone, which was a rarity. He made sure his number was not available to the common sort of spam, robot, scam, and sales calls. This number, though, was local. He frowned. "Do you mind if I—?"

Steph waved her fork in dismissal. "Go run the world, Mr. CEO."

Tim smiled an apology and answered. "Hello?"

"Tim? 'S Jason."

"How are you— are you on the landline?"

"Yeah. Needed to call. I found— it's not—" Jason took a deep breath. His speech was a little slurred and Tim frowned. He mouthed _sorry_, at Steph and slipped out of the booth to take the call outside.

"Are you all right?" Tim asked.

"Very poisoned. Or drugged. What's the difference? N'ermind. Bruce asked me to call but I'm calling to tell you I can't. Shouldn't. You shouldn't. Fuck. What the hell did he give me."

"Breathe. You have the water I gave you, right?"

"Yeah. Drank one. Don't trust the taps. He wants me to invite you for _lunch_. Like, today. I think he drugged me to convince me to ask you."

"That's… interesting," Tim said. "And where is Mr. Wayne now?"

"He— shit. Maybe listening? Are you listening, Bruce? Stop listening, you asshole," Jason growled. Tim closed his eyes and sighed. He'd have to be careful.

"Why does he want me to come for lunch today?"

"Said he wants to make things right. Said he'd make sure Dick was there."

"Really."

"I think 's like you said. Collect the set," Jason said. "Don't come, Tim."

"But if we know Dick will be there, that's a really good opportunity," Tim said, mind whirring. "What time?"

"No, you can't. Look, they have pictures of my grave."

Tim blinked. Opened his mouth. Shut it again. "What?"

"Pictures of a gravestone with _my name on it_."

"Are… you sure?"

"No, I'm fucking drugged! I need to—" A burst of static ran over the line. "Shit. Losing the connection. Phones are haunted."

"Jason, maybe you should get out of there," Tim said, inspecting his fingernails.

Jason was quiet for long enough that Tim thought the connection had gone. "What if I'm the ghost?" he said finally, voice very distant.

"What? Jason, that's ridiculous, you're not a ghost, I promise."

"You'd know. Because you speak Akkadian and have mystical ritual stuff and silver knives in your mansion."

"Yes. That's how I know," Tim said soothingly. "Listen to me. Have you called anyone else? Talia?"

"Should. Promise you won't come, first. Then I'll—_good for a dead man—_what the fuck was that?"

Tim nearly dropped the phone. Jason had been interrupted by another voice, staticky and far away, like an old record. "Jason?" he asked, suddenly _very_ unsure.

"I don't know, Tim. Nothing here—_flowers on my grave—_fuck. I should hang up. Don't come. I'll get myself out."

There was a click and then the disconnect tone. Tim stared at his phone. This was… not according to plan.

He made his excuses to Stephanie. That relationship – at first a nuisance but now with the promise of becoming profitable – was worth developing, but he had more immediate concerns just now.

He walked a block away, then called John and had him bring a nondescript, older car to drop him off around the back of the Powers building. He let himself in the side entrance where no cameras pointed.

A retina scan, a secret elevator, and a keypad later and he emerged into an opulent underground lobby. The floor was marble, the couches and settees antique, the chandelier gold and crystal.

When he pressed the side of a solid walnut bureau in just the right place, it swung open to reveal an array of white, oval masks. He took one and fixed it over his face. Normally he'd dress more the part, but today… he'd have to hurry if he wanted to be ready by lunch time.

For what he needed, Tim had to go even deeper, down to the labs. Not quite as far underground as the Court had delved, but far enough that any thought of a window was a distant and foolish hope.

The laboratory door was closed, but not locked. Nothing was locked to Tim. He let the door click audibly closed behind him.

"Dr. Crane," he said, when the sound of the door didn't cause the lab's occupant to look up from the table he was leaned over.

"Busy," Dr. Crane said absently. Tim looked closer at what he was doing.

There was a body on the table. A live one, by a certain definition of the word. Tim frowned, stopped within arm's reach of the door, just in case. Not that he'd be fast enough, if it came to that. Not given who – what – was lying on the table under Crane's ministrations.

"Who gave you permission to work on the Talon?" Tim asked.

"The Grandmaster," Crane said. He was scribbling things down on a clip board. The only part of the Talon that moved was her eyes, wide and golden and trained on Crane. "Remarkable things, aren't they? The fear response exists, but they're trained to suppress it. I can't wait to see what it takes to break that training."

"Do _not_ break the Talon," Tim said. "I highly doubt the Grandmaster gave you permission for that."

"Hm," Crane said noncommittally. Tim narrowed his eyes.

"Crane, stop what you're doing and attend me," he hissed.

Crane straightened. Most people did when Tim got serious. "Yes, of course. What can I do for you, sir?"

"What, exactly, did you give me when I asked you for something that would make the subject open to suggestion?"

"Oh. Well. You requested a hypnotic coupled with a mild, time-released poison—"

"I know what I requested."

"And I created it from scratch," Crane said, throwing up his hands. "Without knowing the subject in question, I might add, which means the dosage—"

"He's high as a kite," Tim said. "I need him _functioning_."

"If you would bring him in…"

"Not possible."

Crane huffed and Tim crossed the lab in two strides, grabbing the front of his white coat over the table, praying Crane hadn't done anything to the Talon that might make her forget her orders and attack someone despite the owl mask. He dragged Crane close. "I'm going to need another special order."

Tim left the lab with the materials he needed tucked into his bag and headed for the entrance. The Talon had laid on the table the entire time, unmoving and soundless, her white-blonde hair and cracked marble skin blending into the sterile environment. If she hadn't still been in uniform, she might have looked like another lab fixture.

It was eerie, and it was also wildly irresponsible. What Elliot could be thinking, letting Crane play with such a valuable asset—

"Ah, young Drake."

Tim froze. The Grandmaster had just stepped out of one of the private offices lining the hall. It was like he'd summoned the man with his thoughts.

"Grandmaster," he said, with a deferential bow. Thomas Elliot was tall, broad, with raven hair perfectly styled. Tim knew that the face behind the mask was handsome in the way only a great deal of time, effort, and money could accomplish.

"I don't often have the pleasure of seeing you here. What brings you home to the nest?"

"Simply checking in. I do hate to be away so often, but running Drake Industries keeps me so busy."

"It's a large job for one so young," Elliot said. He put a paternal hand on Tim's shoulder and steered him down the hallway. Tim tried not to stiffen under his grip, but wasn't entirely sure he was successful. Too much time spent with Steph and with Jason, being human, cultivating the appearance of ease and unguardedness. It was harder to get it back under control than he'd thought it would be. "You know any of us here would be happy to lend you a hand whenever it's needed."

_And next thing I know my company isn't mine any more. No, thank you_. Instead of saying that, Tim inclined his head in acknowledgement of the Grandmaster's generous offer. "Yes, sir."

"And, you know I don't mean to pressure you at all, but how is that little project I gave you coming along?"

Tim let his shoulders slump and his head bow. "Slowly, sir. Wayne's home is like a fortress, and he guards the Gray Son carefully."

Elliot chuckled and Tim bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying anything stupid. He knew Elliot had given him this project just to see him fail. Tim did not intend to fail.

"Tell me the details."

"Sir?" Tim asked. "A progress report?"

"Yes. Tell me about Wayne. How does he seem? Have you caught a glimpse of him?"

Elliot's grip on his shoulder had tightened, and Tim realized too late that he was guiding him through the labyrinthine hallways right back toward Crane's lab. Crane might obey Tim, but he owed his allegiance to the Grandmaster and would have no qualms mentioning Tim's little requests, which would lead to a lot more questions Tim didn't want to answer.

"No, sir. He stays in his manor at all times," Tim lied. If Elliot knew he'd actually exchanged words with Wayne not long ago, Tim would never get out of here by lunch time. And Elliot might pull him off the project entirely if he thought Tim was getting too close to Wayne, or that Tim might actually succeed. He couldn't allow Tim to gain that kind of clout. "He's… very damaged," Tim said.

Elliot nodded in satisfaction. "A weak mind. It's sheer luck he's kept us at arm's reach thus far. I have every confidence you're doing your best."

"Yes, sir."

Busywork, that's what it was meant to be. Elliot didn't believe in the prophecies and old stories surrounding the Gray Son of Gotham any more than Tim did. But many influential members of the court felt differently, and Elliot needed Tim out of the way. Tim had moved a little too boldly, a little too overtly after his parents had died and he'd realized the Court's kindness and deference to him was only another game, a bid to manipulate and control the heir to the Drake fortune. He'd spooked Elliot with his ambition, his ideas, so Elliot had given him this Kobayashi Maru of a project.

Well, he would succeed where no one expected him to and bring the Gray Son home to the Court where he belonged. Their current Talon was perfectly serviceable, but bringing in _this_ Talon, the foretold Talon, would sway a number of the Court to Tim's side. That, coupled with the influx of cash from the Wayne estate if he played his cards right…

Elliot's days were numbered.

So were Grayson's, but Tim couldn't let that stop him. Not if he was going to save Gotham.

"Um, Grandmaster?" Tim ventured when Elliot steered him toward the stairwell that would lead down to the labs. "Might I ask where we're going?"

"I want to show you something. Something Crane has been working on. A demonstration."

The Talon. He wanted to push the Talon to her limits while Tim was in the room. Frighten him. Possibly "accidentally" injure or otherwise compromise him. Intimidation games. He must not have been hiding his work on Wayne and the Gray Son as well as he thought.

Tim halted abruptly. "I was just down there, sir."

"Were you?"

"I asked Crane for something… something for my nerves," Tim said, embarrassed. He could practically see Elliot digesting this piece of information, adding it to his picture of Tim, totting it up in the "weaknesses" column. "I did see the Talon," he said, letting a tremor into his voice.

"Amazing work, isn't it? Amazing what we can push the body to, and amazing the utter control we – or rather, I – have over it."

"Yes, sir," Tim whispered, staring at the floor. If Elliot thought he was suitably alarmed, suitably cowed, maybe he could avoid this whole pantomime and avoid him learning what Tim had actually taken from Crane.

"Fear is unbecoming of a member of the Court," Elliot said sternly, but Tim could hear the glee in his voice. He hoped he hadn't overplayed his prey impersonation. He looked back up and squared his shoulders.

"Yes, sir."

Elliot stared hard at him for a few moments, then nodded. "You're young, yet. You'll learn." He thumped Tim on the shoulder and walked past him back up the hall, leaving him alone.

Tim grimaced. He was going to run into the Talon suddenly in a dark alley or around a blind corner someday soon, a lesson from the Grandmaster. Hopefully it would just be intended to scare him, but Tim was well aware that Elliot considered pain to be an effective teacher (that, and he just enjoyed inflicting it.) Tim would start planning another skydiving or skiing trip now to explain any injuries to the public. With any luck, though, he'd get his current project wrapped up before it became necessary and then Elliot wouldn't be in any position to do anything to him without risking the wrath of the rest of the Court.


	12. Chapter 12

Jason sat in the middle of his room with his hands shaking, trying to sort perception from reality. Being drugged sucked extra when you _knew_ you were drugged and couldn't do anything about it. He was second-guessing anything that seemed like a reasonable thought, because he wasn't sure he could have reasonable thoughts in his current state. But did that mean the unreasonable thoughts were the ones that a non-drugged person would actually find logical?

It was a moot point. He couldn't really tell the difference right now, but he thought calling Tim had probably been the wrong thing to do. Jason had tried to calmly explain the situation but he suspected he'd failed.

He'd seen his grave. In a picture, sure, but it was still unsettling. The birth date had been correct, carved deep into the granite, but the end date had been obscured by a light bloom on the film. It hadn't looked photoshopped.

It had probably been photoshopped. Right? Or was there a grave somewhere on these grounds with his name on it already, just waiting? Dick's room was probably a shrine to the last orphan Bruce had murdered, was probably where he plotted his next murder. At least this time Talia would avenge him.

Talia! He should call her. He pulled out his cell phone and hit her contact, but the call didn't go through because haunted houses had terrible cell signal.

He put the phone down on the soft carpet in front of him, next to the double edged knife – was it more properly a dagger? – and the tablet displaying a phonetic script for a binding and exorcising ritual.

The dagger was so shiny it looked like it had been dipped in mercury. Silver wasn't supposed to look like that, was it? It probably wouldn't even work.

Jason murmured the first few words of the lines Tim had carefully copied for him.

Nothing happened.

He recited the rest steadily, only slurring a little on the tricky fricatives and sighed when he got to the end and nothing continued to happen. There, then, that proved it, or at least proved that there was nothing _he_ could do about—

A sudden, firm thudding at his door made Jason's heart leap several inches out of place.

"Jason?" Dick demanded.

Jason's eyes widened. "Shit. It worked." He'd summoned Dick. And he seemed _very _corporeal if the tone of his knocking was any indication. Hopefully the part of the chant that determined he'd stay that way had also worked.

"Jason, I know you're in there. I'm coming in." Jason couldn't quite figure out his legs enough to stand, so he shoved the knife behind him where he sat on the carpet, hiding it just as the lock unlocked and the door swung open to usher in a furious-looking Dick.

"Were you in my room?" Dick demanded, looming over him.

"Yes. Sorry. I had to." Jason fumbled for the blade behind his back.

"You _had _to? What were you doing in there?" Dick's eyes narrowed and he leaned down to look closer at Jason's upturned face. "Are you drunk?"

"No, I'm poisoned," Jason snapped. Disbelief chased confusion and then concern over Dick's face and Jason took full advantage of the moment. He snatched Dick's wrist and whipped the blade from behind his back and across Dick's open palm.

Dick cried out and jerked back. Jason didn't hold on and Dick fell backward at the unexpected release. He shoved himself up on his elbows. "What are you—"

Jason started the next chant quickly. Dick's eyes widened and he twisted to his knees, stumbling for the door before he was fully upright, his bleeding hand clutched to his chest.

Jason didn't interrupt the chanting with swearing, badly as he wanted to. He forced himself to go after Dick, tablet in one hand and knife in the other. Dick was bolting down the hallway, but Jason's legs were longer. He caught up with Dick on the mezzanine, dropping the knife to grab Dick by the back of his shirt. Vaguely, distantly, the thought crossed his mind that the blood on the knife would stain the carpet. That maybe he should be more concerned about that blood than he was.

Jason spat a few more syllables of a language he did not understand as Dick writhed in his grip, the fabric of his t-shirt twisting around Jason's fingers.

"Let me _go!_"

Jason yanked him closer, one eye on the railing and the drop it protected against. If this worked, if he finished the ritual, he'd just have to…

Suddenly Jason choked on the words. It took him a moment to understand why. There was an arm around his throat, a hand on the back of his head, an impossibly solid chest at his back. He dropped the tablet to clutch at the corded muscle, then dropped his hold on Dick's shirt, and finally dropped his hold on consciousness. The last thing he saw before the black edges of his vision closed in was Dick stumbling away from him, a look of sheer fury on his face. He was almost glad he'd be unconscious for what came next.

* * *

  
Jason had been locked in his room for hours. He'd woken there to find that the entire doorknob had been changed out for one that locked from the outside. His lockpicks were missing, and he wasn't desperate enough to attempt the drop from his window to the garage roof – yet. So he paced, trying not to panic, trying to see a way out that didn't involve two broken legs. His hair was an electric mess from how many times he'd shoved his hands through it.

The good news was that whatever had been in his system seemed to have run its course. He didn't feel off-balance and his thoughts were, as far as he could tell, lining up how thoughts should. He wasn't seeing anything strange, either.

Unless he was hallucinating that face at the window.

"_Tim_?" He rushed over and shoved the window open and Tim tumbled over the sill

"Shh," Tim urged, making _calm down_ motions with his hands.

"Wait, are you—" He reached out and poked him in the shoulder.

"I'm real," Tim said, prowling past Jason. "What happened since we spoke?"

"I'll tell you all about it as soon as we get out of here," Jason said. "You were right, this is nuts. I shouldn't have tried to stay here. We need to get somewhere there's signal, call Talia, and report Bruce for… for _something_." He peered out the window. It was a pretty long drop to the garage roof. "How did you say you got up here again?"

"I climbed." Tim held out his hands. He was wearing a pair of gloves with what looked like suckers on the palms and fingers.

"Are you kidding me?"

"They're pneumatic," Tim said, a little defensively. "I _may_ have stolen the prototype from my R&D department. But I've only got one pair, so…"

"So you Spider-Man your way back down there and get help," Jason said.

"I'm not leaving you here on your own. And I'm not leaving without Dick. Without helping him, I mean. Didn't this doorknob used to have a different lock?" he asked, kneeling in front of it to examine it more closely.

"Yeah, and the door's too solid to break down. Believe me, I've tried a few times. Look, Tim, that ritual – it _worked_. Or, I think it worked. I'm a little hazy on the details, but Dick was there and I… I cut him."

"With the knife, right? That's what you were supposed to do."

"Yeah, but he bled. Ghosts shouldn't—"

"I told you the ritual would make him corporeal," Tim said quickly. "Are you _sure_ you cut him, though? You actually drew blood?"

"Yeah. Yeah, pretty sure."

"Good. Good." Tim took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Very good. What then?"

"Then Bruce put me in a choke hold and I woke up here." Jason looked out the window again. The sun was high. "That was hours ago. I haven't seen anyone since." Tim didn't seem to be listening too closely. He'd turned from Jason and yanked the wardrobe open. "What are you doing?" Jason asked as Tim climbed in.

"Escaping," Tim said. He was feeling along the back of the wardrobe and made a happy little hum of approval when something went _click_.

"How the fuck did you know that was there?" Jason demanded as the back of the wardrobe slotted into a slight recess. Tim slid it to the side, where it disappeared into the wall, revealing a narrow, bare brick cubby just big enough for a person to stand in. There were iron rungs bolted into the brick going up into the ceiling.

"Educated guess. I noticed the dimensions of the room were slightly off when I was here before. Are you coming?" Tim already had a hand and one foot on the ladder.

"Are you sure we shouldn't just try the window?" Jason hissed. Tim just grinned at him and scampered up the ladder. Jason swore and followed him.

The ladder took them up twelve or fourteen feet, the bricks close around them. Jason's shoulders nearly brushed the walls. It was stifling and dark and smelled stale, but it was not, he noted, dusty. Above him, Tim vanished suddenly.

"Tim?" Jason hissed. The light from the bedroom was too far away to be much use. Jason reached up tentatively, thinking Tim had just gone too far for him to see.

A hand grabbed his and Jason nearly shouted.

"Just me," Tim whispered. "There's a passage." He pulled Jason's hand to a ledge and Jason felt around. It was a square opening in the wall, leading off to the side toward the hallway, big enough for a person to crawl into.

Jason winced as white light suddenly burst into the passage.

"Sorry," Tim said. "I brought a flashlight."

"Did you know you were going to have to rescue me?" Jason asked. Tim scooted further along the passage so Jason could fit into it. It was too small to do anything but crawl, and they'd have to go single file.

"No, but it pays to be prepared. Though if I was _really_ prepared, I'd have brought a headlamp." He sighed and put the flashlight between his teeth and crawled off without another thought.

The tunnel wasn't particularly long. They crawled along for only a few moments before Tim stopped. The light danced as Tim pulled it out of his mouth. "Another ladder," he said. "Up or down?"

Up would be Bruce's domain. "Down," Jason said. "Give me the flashlight so you can grab the ladder."

Tim passed the light back to him and reached out into the void. He grabbed the rungs above the passage's opening and swung his legs out so his feet could find purchase on the lower rungs. When he was secure, he looked down. Jason scooted forward to shine the light for him.

"Looks just like the other one," he reported. "I can see the bottom." He started climbing down. Jason peered over the edge when he was out of the way and made sure he could see what he was doing. "There's something down here. Huh."

"What is it?"

"A modem. Someone went to some trouble to route power back here and hide this."

"This must be Dick's room. We'll come out of his wardrobe."

"Bingo," Tim said. "Toss me the light and start heading down. I'll figure out how to get this open from inside."

"What if Dick's in there?"

"Then we're that much closer to our goal."

Jason heard the click of the door when he was halfway down the ladder. Tim slid it aside just as he had Jason's wardrobe and got out of the way as Jason reached the floor. Since there was no startled shouting, Jason assumed Dick hadn't been in the room after all.

"I see why you were a little flustered," Tim murmured as Jason emerged from the wardrobe. He was eyeing Dick's collection of photos and clippings while kneeling on the floor in front of the laptop Jason had encountered that morning.

"What are you doing?" Jason whispered urgently. The laptop was turned on, and there was some kind of USB device sticking out of the side of it. Jason could hear the fans exerting themselves.

"Breaking into this computer."

"Why? We need to get out of here." The room was indeed empty, the door closed as usual. It looked almost exactly the same as it had when Jason had left it to stumble down the hall to the office phone. The picture he'd dropped, though, had been picked up and left on the desk. Jason went to it, half not wanting to look and half desperate to. Maybe what he'd seen had just been the drugs…

Or maybe Dick really did have a photo of his gravestone.

"Does this look photoshopped to you?" Jason asked, shoving the picture between Tim's face and the computer screen he was watching intently, despite nothing apparent happening.

"Huh?" Tim blinked and snatched the photo from his hand. "Huh. Not exactly. There's something off about it, but— oh, score, I'm in."

"You actually just said that," Jason muttered, taking the picture back. "_What_ are you in to?"

He got a glimpse of a chat window open, three screen names – in blue, purple, and green respectively – before the door to Dick's room swung open and Bruce's shadow fell over them.

Jason jumped back and Tim slammed the computer shut and yanked the USB device from it.

Bruce's gaze went from Tim kneeling on the floor in front of the computer, Jason clutching the photo of his grave, the motley array spilling from the wardrobe.

"Hm," he said.

Tim stood. "Where's Dick?" he demanded. All trace of hesitance was gone.

"Right here," Dick said from behind Bruce. "What the hell is going on?"

Bruce didn't move. "I'm taking you all downstairs. This has gone on long enough."

"All?" Dick peered around Bruce where he was all but blocking the doorway. His eyes widened when he saw Tim. "_Him_? No."

"I agree," Tim said. "You're not taking us anywhere."

"We're past the point where you have a choice," Bruce said, his voice so deep Jason could feel it in his own chest. He stepped into the room, Dick hovering uncertainly behind him. Tim backed up, putting himself firmly by Jason's side. Bruce's eyes were on the wardrobe, on the knot of strings and papers and scribbled notes. "Dick," he growled.

"I can explain," Dick said hurriedly, coming more fully into the room. His hand was wrapped in a white bandage.

"You will. Later. For now—" He turned his attention to Jason. "Will you trust me enough to let me show you something?"

Jason almost laughed. "Um, _no?_"

Bruce sighed. "Then we do it the hard way."

Jason shoved Tim behind himself. "Run for it," he said, jerking his head at the window. Tim gave him a startled look, then looked back at Dick.

"Nope. Not leaving you."

"No one is leaving," Bruce said. He reached for Jason, but this time Jason let his instinct take over. He grabbed Bruce's wrist before his hand could close on him and bulled forward with his shoulder, intending to ram him in the diaphragm or ribs. Bruce turned just slightly to the side, and simply _scooped_ Jason off his feet and dropped him on the floor on his back

Jason rolled immediately to standing, years of self-defense lessons making themselves known. He dimly noted that Tim and Dick seemed to be having a wrestling match of their own before Bruce was crowding him again.

"I don't want to hurt you, Jason," Bruce said. "That's the last thing I want."

"Then why are you doing this?" Jason ducked a grab and tried to circle so that he'd be nearer to the door. Behind Bruce, he saw Tim throw Dick to the floor and climb onto his back, twisting his arm to pin him. The look on Tim's face as he pressed Dick into the floor was… strange. Like a dog that's caught the car it was chasing. Dick tried to twist away and Tim, almost absently, pressed a thumb into the bandaged cut on his hand. Something Jason couldn't quite see glinted in Tim's other hand.

"No!" Dick yelled, and thrashed wildly in Tim's grip.

Bruce's head snapped toward them, and even Jason took a step in their direction. If Dick kept struggling like that, he'd dislocate his shoulder.

Then Bruce was hauling Tim off of Dick, right into the air by the back of his shirt, making him drop whatever he'd been holding. It looked like a metal EpiPen. Dick pushed himself to one knee, and Jason thought he would lunge for the thing, but instead he lunged at Jason.

"Traitor," Dick spat. Jason stumbled back, through the open door and into the hallway, but couldn't dodge Dick's tackle. They both went down, the hall runner not nearly as soft under Jason's face as it had felt under his feet.

"We're trying to help you, Dick!" he protested, twisting and trying to throw Dick off without hurting him. Dick jabbed a knee into his diaphragm.

"Bruce won't hurt you, but I will," Dick snarled while Jason wheezed.

"Dick, that's enough," Bruce said. Both Dick and Jason looked over at him. He was holding an unconscious Tim in his arms.

"Tim!" Jason called out, finally getting his breath back.

"He's sedated. He'll be fine in a bit."

"What is with you people and drugs?" Jason bit out. Dick was still on top of him, holding him down by his shoulders.

"We didn't drug you, Jason," Bruce said. "Will you please come downstairs with me?"

"No. Way. Put Tim down and let us go."

"I _told_ you he was an owl, Bruce," Dick spat. "We should put him under too, if you're really going to go through with this."

"I'm not an _owl_. Dick, you need help," Jason said. Of course, he'd been seriously entertaining the idea that Dick was a ghost right up until Dick had literally sat on him, and which of those assumptions was really more bizarre?

"If he were an owl, he'd have done a lot worse to you than let you knock him around," Bruce said.

"Like slice my hand open with an electrum dagger?" Dick asked, sarcasm limning his words.

"Electrum?" Jason echoed.

"Enough," Bruce said. "We have things to do. Ah, Alfred."

"I say," said Alfred, who had just come down the hall and was looking at the group of them with slightly raised eyebrows: a veritable shout of shock, from him. "What on Earth is going on here?"

"We're heading downstairs. You should come, too," Bruce said.

"Alfred," Jason said, looking up at him desperately. "Please, make him let us go. Tim's hurt. Dick's hurt. Please, _please_ tell me you're not in on this."

"Ah, I'm afraid what Master Bruce asks will be best in this case," Alfred said. "Though, Master Dick, you might let our guest up off the floor."

"He'll run," Dick said.

"Not if he's worried about Tim," Bruce said. Standing there holding an entire person didn't seem to be fatiguing him in the least.

"What are you going to do to him?" Jason demanded.

"Nothing. As you'll see." Apparently finished discussing it, Bruce swept past Jason and Dick. Alfred stood aside to let him by and Jason made a small noise of distress.

"Master Dick," Alfred said, the barest hint of reproach in his voice.

Dick backed off of Jason slowly. Jason bolted, aiming for Bruce – only to be brought up short by Dick grabbing him by the shoulder and kicking the back of his knee. Jason's leg folded and he went down on it, Dick standing behind him with a firm grip on his shoulder. "I told you so," Dick said to Alfred.

Alfred sighed, nodded, and pulled out his pocket square and a small bottle. "My apologies, sir. This will only be a moment."

* * *

  
Jason's surroundings swam in and out of focus; a glimpse of wall paneling, the passage of rug under his stumbling feet, his arm pulled across strong shoulders holding him up. An elevator?

"I'm glad Bruce left us the _heavy_ one," Dick grumbled somewhere near his ear. Jason wasn't sure his feet were touching the floor. They were touching _something_, but surely it was moving too much to be floor. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

When he opened them again he was stretched out on his back on a very cold, very hard floor. The air smelled damp, and the lighting was harsh and white. Jason groaned and covered his eyes with one hand, then peered cautiously through his fingers.

The light was coming from several shop lamps set up here and there in what appeared to be a large cavern. A cave? How long had he been out? Where had they gone?

Dick and Bruce were standing several feet away, speaking quietly and urgently over a table set up with a welter of electronic equipment Jason couldn't immediately identify.

"Jason?" Tim asked quietly. Jason dropped his hand from his face. Tim was on the ground nearby lying on his side, wrists bound behind his back and ankles tied together. Jason wasn't tied up in any way. But he also couldn't see an exit. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jason said. He was a little dizzy, but other than that felt all right. "You?"

"Help me sit up. They already know we're awake. They don't care because there's nowhere to run unless we want to get lost in an extensive unexplored underground cave system."

"Then why are you tied up?" Jason asked, though he did crawl over to Tim and help him sit with his legs bent in front of him.

"I'm very dangerous," Tim said seriously.

Jason cracked a smile, just briefly. "Incidentally, I don't think Dick's a ghost."

"Your theory has merit," Tim said.

"I think I might prefer it if he was a ghost. Do you know what's going on?"

"Not a clue. This was… unexpected."

"I'd be real concerned if you _had_ expected something like this. Okay, they're not paying attention, I'm going to untie you."

"Jason, please don't untie Tim," Bruce called without looking up from whatever he was bent over at the work table. Dick shot an alarmed look over his shoulder at them.

"How did he _know_?" Jason hissed.

"…ghosts?"

Jason punched his arm, but not hard. "Hey, what Dick said earlier. Electrum knife?"

Tim shook his head. "Don't know. They're both delusional."

"Okay," Jason said. "But… I _did_ see Dick vanish. I'm not delusional. As far as I know."

"You think they've been dosing you all this time?" Tim asked.

"Then what happened last night? They just suddenly got it wrong?"

Tim shrugged as well as he could with his hands tied behind his back.

Jason sat next to him, wrapping his arms around his knees. It took a moment, but he spotted Alfred hovering at the periphery of one of the circles of light cast by the lamps. He gave a calm nod when he saw Jason watching him and Jason looked away quickly.

"You handled yourself pretty well up there," he said to Tim, trying to fill the silence while he waited for his brain to figure a way out of this. "I didn't know you could fight."

"Self-defense lessons. Par for the course for sole heirs to grand fortunes," Tim said. His tone was short, his voice clipped. Jason frowned and leaned over a bit, nudging their shoulders together.

"Hey," Jason said. "It's going to be all right. I'm not going to let them hurt you."

Tim made a noise that sounded a little like a dolphin choking.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Just, you're a good friend, Jason."

"Yeah, well, so are you. Can't think of anyone I'd rather be stuck in a cave with a bunch of crazy people with. Except maybe Talia and a few of her bodyguards."

"Well, next time maybe send them an invite," Tim suggested.

All the lights in the cave suddenly dimmed, then flared bright before settling and any relaxing Tim had done went out of him as he sat up straighter, alert.

At the work table, Bruce turned a few knobs on one of his mysterious pieces of equipment and peered closely at the screen. "Atmospheric instability. Strong." He straightened and looked around the cavern. "Do you see anything?"

Dick shook his head.

"A storm would be convenient," Bruce muttered.

All of the lights went out.

The sudden silence was heavy as the darkness as everyone tried to keep their bearings. Jason leaned over again, using Tim as a touchstone to reassure himself that the world hadn't vanished. If he were an action hero, this would be about the time he'd be making his grand escape. But he was not an action hero. He was barely sure which way was up.

Then a light clicked on and there was a collective wince. Alfred had brought a flashlight.

"Perhaps a breaker?" Alfred suggested. "Shall I go and see?"

"No," Bruce said. "Stay together. All of us." He grabbed Dick by the shoulder and propelled him toward where Jason and Tim were sitting. Alfred joined them. Without talking about it, Alfred, Dick, and Bruce stood in a triangle around Jason and Tim, backs to them, facing out into the darkness of the cave.

And then the darkness was a little less dark. High above, a dim, bluish light flickered into existence, just barely making the outline of a person; a person who flipped through the air four times with a joyful shout.

Jason looked up at Dick, who caught his look and shook his head. "I'm right here," Dick said. "That's not me."

"Then what is it?" Tim demanded.

Dick turned away, refusing to speak to him.

"Impressions. Ghosts of things that might have been," Bruce said. His voice sounded weary.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said. "Perhaps we should—"

"No," Bruce said. "I can handle it. I have to, if we ever want it to stop."

Alfred looked like he might argue for a moment, then nodded and turned back to staring out at the rest of the cave, flashlight held steady.

The glowing figure overhead vanished, only to be replaced by a running phantom that almost passed right through their little group. Then a yell and the crash of shattered glass. The roar of a hugely powerful engine.

Then came a hum like a generator powering up. Lightning crackled through the air, tiny forks leaping from lamp to lamp. They all turned to look as the lightning zipped in a circle near the worktable, faster and faster until Alfred's flashlight was hardly necessary.

A sound like tearing paper, a smell like burning dust, and suddenly they weren't the only ones in the cave any longer. Or perhaps they were no longer in the same cave at all, for wavering images of someplace entirely different surrounded them: a massive computer; a huge, shining car; training mats and workout equipment.

But mostly: the large man in a black cape and cowl, the only slightly less large man in a red helmet, another in black and blue, yet another in red with bandoliers across his chest, and even a small child, caped and hooded and carrying a sword.

And another Alfred, looking just the same as the one Jason knew.

"My goodness," said Alfred – the one still standing near Jason and Tim.

"That's it," said the masked man with the bandoliers. "Concordance. That's as close a match as we're going to get."

"That's pretty damn close, Red," said the man in the helmet. Jason got the impression he was staring at them intently, though of course he couldn't see his expression.

"Batman," Bruce said with a nod. "Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin, Alfred," he continued, as though he was greeting colleagues. A pause, then, "Robin."

"I take it you've noted the interspatial anomalies," Batman said.

"Wait a second, why is Tim _tied up_?" Nightwing demanded, stepping forward.

"Because he's an owl," Dick said, crossing his arms.

Jason had had about enough. He stood, making sure to plant himself between Dick and Tim. "He is _not_ an owl." He turned to the ghosts, who were watching him with interest. "He's tied up because we've both been drugged and dragged down here by the freaking madman in the attic—" He gestured at Bruce. "And if you hallucinations are the sort who can do something about that, please go for it."

"We need to close the rift," Bruce said, completely ignoring Dick, Tim, Jason, and Nightwing. "This is the terminus. Everything, all the multiverses, leak through here. It— I haven't— I'm not Batman." It sounded like a confession.

"I see." Batman looked around. "Red Robin," he said, and somehow Red Robin seemed to know what that meant. He took a few steps away, flickering out of sight for a moment and then back in.

"Hang on a second," Jason said. "Tim. That Red Robin. He looks… he looks like you."

Tim looked from Red Robin to Jason. "Yeah, right."

"He does. And that jacket the other guy's wearing... Hey, Red Hood," Jason called. Red Hood cocked his head at him. "Have you been freaking haunting me? I swear I followed you to the cellar once."

"Wouldn't that be something," Red Hood said. "Could be. Could have been some other Hood." He shrugged. "Multiverses, man."

The kid – Robin – was still staring around, looking through his own surroundings into their cave. "This… if you are not Batman, then… then I…"

Bruce shook his head. "Not as far as I know."

"I see. But you know who I am?"

"I do. Damian. And I wish— I wish so many things," Bruce said. "I've seen you grow up so many different ways. I—" Bruce drew in a difficult breath through his teeth and closed his eyes. Alfred stepped forward.

"Forgive me," he said. "But might we hurry this along? I'm afraid several decades of having the dregs of the entire multiverse leak into his head have made for a very difficult life and I would not prolong his suffering a moment longer."

"We can seal it," Batman said. "We've been seeing the bleedthrough here, too. We've been patching the tears as we find them."

"I'm pretty sure you're the one I ran into a few days ago upstairs," Nightwing said, with a nod to Jason. "I was really surprised to find Jay in his old room."

Red Hood huffed. "Surprised is a nice way of saying 'called me in a panic at two in the morning' because you thought I'd vanished in front of your eyes."

"You?" Jason blurted. "You're— you thought I was him?"

"Well, if there's no Batman I guess there's no Red Hood," Red Hood said. He crossed his arms. "Are you, uh, okay? In that universe?"

"I think I might be losing my mind."

"Other than that," Red Hood said, his voice rough. "You grow up all right?"

"Well, yeah. Talia took good care of me. Did she not adopt you, over there?"

Red Hood went still. "No. No she did not."

"I've isolated the concordant variables," Red Robin said, re-solidifying for the most part. "If you've got enough power on your side, we can—" He looked up, straight at Tim, then looked down at the tablet in his hands again. "Let's close it."

"And just leave you tied up like that?" Nightwing asked.

"Nightwing," Batman said. "It's their universe. We can't interfere."

"He _is_ an owl," Red Robin said quietly. Tim stiffened, sitting up straighter.

"No way," Nightwing said.

"Based on what we've seen in bleedthrough, that world… that Gotham… No Batman, no Robin, no Red Robin. That Tim was raised by his parents to be their son. With his pedigree and upbringing, Court affiliation is a 97% probability." He didn't look up from the tablet again as he made this proclamation. "Close it. He deserves what he gets."

Nightwing stared at him. Robin nodded. Red Hood gave a low whistle. "Dang, Red. That's cold."

"He's wrong," Tim said, glaring up at Red Robin.

"Of course he is," Jason started.

"I am _not_ some spoiled member of the Court. I am its next Grandmaster and I am burning it to the ground and starting over," Tim growled. "Don't you dare judge me."

Jason gaped, but Red Robin didn't seem impressed. "The next Grandmaster?" he said. "As soon as… what? You're tied up on the floor of the Batcave now. All part of the clever plan?" Tim's eyes flicked to Dick, then away. The eyes of Red Robin's mask widened. "Oh. You wouldn't."

"I don't have a choice."

"No. You're smarter than that and I know it. Ask Bruce for help. He'll give it." Batman and Bruce both looked at Red Robin, identical body language indicating mild surprise. "Don't you _dare_ do what I think you're planning to Dick."

"He won’t," Dick said, crossing his arms. "Like you said, tied up on the floor of a cave."

"Don't underestimate him," Red Robin cautioned.

"Okay!" Nightwing said. "This is all extremely terrifying, but we've got a dimensional hole to patch so if you'll all be all right on your own, I kind of never want to see your universe again."

"Agreed," Robin snapped. "Can we wrap this up?"

"Ready when you are," Red Robin said, turning away from his counterpart. Bruce shrugged Alfred's concerned hand off and went to the worktable, picking up what looked like jumper cables and conferring with Batman about some detail.

"Real quick," Nightwing hissed to Dick, jerking his head to the side. Dick looked startled but followed Nightwing when he walked off from the others a few paces. They bent their heads together, but Jason couldn't make out what was said. It just ended with a nod from Dick, and Nightwing trying to pat him on the shoulder, which resulted in a bright spark of static electricity and a barked order from Batman to stop messing around.

"Tim?" Jason asked. Tim wouldn't look at him.

Red Hood watched them both. "Now that's refreshing. Usually _I'm _the bad guy," he said. Jason glared at him and he shrugged. "Just something to think about."

"Last call, folks," Red Robin said. "Here we go."

Batman nodded, Bruce nodded, and the lightning danced once again, racing over the fuzzing outlines of their interdimensional counterparts. Jason watched them fade and dispel, but his mind was elsewhere, playing back every interaction he'd had with Tim; follies, photography, video games, ghost research… His fists clenched and there was a final _zip_ of electricity and the cave was vacant of ghosts once again.

Jason felt a faint tickle on the back of his neck, like a stray breeze had found itself, improbably, underground. He inhaled deeply and the air seemed fresher. It smelled, somehow, like sunrise.

Bruce straightened from where he'd been bent over supporting himself on the worktable.

"Finally," he said. "I can begin."


	13. Chapter 13

"If it was that simple, why didn't you do this years ago? Decades ago? Hey, are you listening to me?" Jason watched as Dick trailed Bruce around the cave firing questions at him while Bruce cleared a table, gathered up odds and ends from different heaps of equipment piled around the cave, and moved the lighting around to suit his liking. Dick finally stepped in front of him. "Bruce."

"Because it wasn't _simple_," Bruce said, moving easily around Dick. "Creating an interdimensional resonator isn't _simple_. Figuring out the right conditions, duplicating them… doing it all with disjointed visions pouring through your head? Not. Simple." He unfurled a blueprint onto one of the cleared tables. "I did try," he went on. He glanced over at Tim, still seated on the floor, bound, avoiding everyone's gaze. Jason was still standing near him, trying to decide who he wanted to yell at first.

"When you drugged Tim and tried to lock him up," Jason said. "So I guess _that_ wasn't a lie, at least." He glared at Tim. Tim didn't give any indication he'd heard him.

"I suspected his Court affiliation, then, so I was cautious. I thought I'd just need him for a few hours. He wasn't enough, though. We needed more. Whatever we could do to make this universe as similar to the next closest one as possible. The tear, it's like a zipper. The edges had to align so we could seal them," Bruce said. "I was hoping to avoid involving you, Jason. What I've seen of the multiverse… the less I have to do with you the better. But I didn't see another way."

"You could have just _told_ me," Jason complained.

"And you would have believed me?" Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe. But understand, this is the clearest my mind has been in… ever, possibly. The closer I was to the cave, the more time I spent here, the harder it was to even string a sentence together. There was too much to process. I am sorry it turned out like this. You can leave right away, if you like. I won't stop you."

Jason tried to come up with a snappy retort, but he was dry. "All right then," he said instead. "I will. Which way out?"

Alfred pointed his flashlight out into the darkness beyond the shop lights and Jason saw a pair of elevator doors nearly the color of the cave walls.

"Fine," he said, and strode toward them with intent. Tim jerked his head up to watch him go. Jason kind of thought Tim would call to him, sort of wished he would, but Tim just clenched his fists behind his back and looked at his knees again.

The elevator was small and cramped, definitely not regulation size. It came up in a study Jason had never seen before. When he let himself out of the room, he realized it was the locked door in the foyer that he'd encountered early on in his stay here – just about exactly a week ago, in fact. It seemed longer.

His stomach rumbled at him and Jason cast his eyes up to the high window in the foyer. Based on the quality of light, it was still afternoon. It felt like it should be midnight, or dawn. He was three steps down the hall toward the kitchen before he paused, second thoughts clamoring. Could he trust the food here? Bruce had said they hadn't drugged him; they'd had no reason to, except that once with the chloroform. It was Tim who had dosed his food, probably given him laced water as a booster. Hell, maybe it went as far back as coffee in his penthouse.

When it came down to it, he couldn't trust anyone in this house. It was a good thing he'd stashed snacks around his room, then.

He turned on his heel to head back to the stairs when a very solid shadow swooped from somewhere above and collided with him hard enough to knock him onto his back. Jason landed with a grunt and the shadow crouched over him, holding him down with one hand planted in the middle of his chest. It was a very _purple_ shadow.

"Where is Dick Grayson?" she demanded.

"You must be Hawk. Or is it _the_ Hawk?" Jason asked, holding his hands out to the sides, palms up. Hawk had a mask across the lower half of her face, a slim domino across her eyes, and a hood not quite covering all of her long, blonde hair. She was swathed in a cloak, but Jason could feel harder body armor underneath it, at least where her legs framed him.

She twisted the front of his shirt in her grip. "I'm asking the questions, and I want you to understand this is very early for me and I haven't had any coffee. So one more time. Where is Dick Grayson?" She pulled a metal baton from somewhere and raised it threateningly with the hand that wasn't making a mess of Jason's shirt.

"Okay, okay, he's downstairs in a secret cave under the manor that you can get to through a secret elevator in that study over there." He jerked his head in the direction of the door. "The study's not secret. It's not even locked. Go nuts."

The baton lowered slightly. "You're… kind of chatty for a ninja assassin."

"Lady, I'm just a world lit major who has been haunted, drugged, and beaten up way too many times in one week. If you want ninja assassins we're fresh out. I think. Who knows at this point."

Hawk slowly released his shirt and stood, backing away. She pointed at him with her baton. "If I find out you're lying—" she started. The study door creaked open and she tensed. The next thing Jason knew she was gone without a trace – probably back up into the shadows of the ceiling but, then again, maybe she was another multiversal hallucination. Jason was feeling pretty jaded at the moment.

He got to his feet as Dick shoved through the study door. Dick stopped short, seeing him stand. "What are you doing on the floor?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Jason said, a little bitter. "And I see you're okay too, Dick Grayson!" he said, making sure to pitch his voice upward so that Hawk could see he had no plans to ninja assassinate Dick.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Your old friend Hawk was here," Jason said.

"Oh— oh, shit, I was in the middle of messaging her when everything happened. She must have thought— crap, she needs to go. It's not safe here," Dick said, looking wildly around as though he might spot her.

"I think she can handle herself. And I thought the ghost-dimension-thing was taken care of."

"Not that," Dick said. "_Tim_. Bruce is letting him go."

"He's what? Why?" Jason asked.

"Maybe he's finally lost it," Dick muttered as the study door opened again. Bruce, Alfred, and Tim came into the foyer. Tim was no longer restrained in any way. Dick took a step back and Jason crossed his arms, glowering.

"You really are a smooth talker, aren't you?" Jason said to Tim.

"Jason, I can explain—"

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," Jason interrupted. "It'll probably sound real reasonable, whatever story you come up with to justify lying to me. I don't want to hear it."

"Did you forget what he tried to do to me, Bruce?" Dick demanded, holding out his bandaged hand.

"No," said Bruce. "But I would never have let him get that far. And if we work with him, you'll never have to worry about the Court again."

"I wouldn't worry about them if they were all in prison serving consecutive life sentences, but somehow I doubt that's what you have in mind for _him_," Dick said.

Bruce put a hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim's face was completely unreadable. "We take them down from the inside," Bruce said.

"Not if I take them down from the outside first," Dick hissed, and stalked up the stairs.

"He's in contact with Hawk and Oracle," Tim said when Dick was out of sight. "From what I gather, Oracle was the first Hawk, the one who saved him when he was eighteen. If I had to guess I'd say she's been trying to help him figure out the dimensional issue you've been having. I don't know why he wouldn't tell you."

"Because he thought you'd be mad," Jason filled in. "Apparently you were so pissed off when he ran off that one time, he's been a little leery of making you mad ever since. Enough so that I actually thought you'd killed him and he was a ghost for a while there, but who knows, that might have been the drugs."

Bruce frowned, ignoring Jason's sarcasm. "I wasn't angry with _him_. I was… scared. I've seen the times the Court gets him. It's—"

"I will speak to him," Alfred interrupted. "And see if he would be willing to hear you out. Clearly it is time for some direct communication in this house." Alfred followed Dick's path up the stairs. Bruce took a step after him, then paused and turned back to Tim.

"You know the Hawk?"

"Yeah," Tim said. "I'm not sure she knows about me, though. Probably she does now."

"Will she be a problem?"

Tim smiled, that same small smile he had when he talked about something he was good at. "No. I've been feeding her and Oracle information anonymously for a while now, undermining my enemies in the Court. Once I tell them it was me, that should earn some trust back. Plus, Kate Kane will vouch for me."

Bruce blinked. "My cousin? I was under the impression she was deep in the Court fully intent on using the family fortune to drown herself in any vice she can find."

"She's funding Hawk and Oracle," Tim said. "The Court's current Talon is Beth Kane."

Bruce went very still. Jason looked between him and Tim, not _wanting _to be drawn in, but unable to help himself.

"What does that mean?" Jason asked.

"It means Kate's dad fucked up royally and almost got the Court in a lot of trouble with the U.S. government. He was forced to make an offering. He gave them Beth, Kate's twin sister."

"His daughter? He gave them his _daughter_?" Jason asked.

"He wasn't a nice person. He died mysteriously a few years ago. The Court figures Kate is weak and pliable, given her supposed addictions. They're just waiting for their moment to seize what's left of the Kane fortune."

"Hm," said Bruce. "Well then. If you turn up with that money behind you, plus Wayne money, _and_ the Gray Son… this will be easy."

"Don't underestimate Tommy Elliot. We will need to plan further—"

"This is great and all," Jason interrupted. "But I've gotta pack. It's been fun. See you never." He brushed past them and took the stairs. A few steps up, he thought of something and turned back to Bruce and Tim. "Hey. My luggage. Was that—?"

Tim sighed. "Me. Sorry. I was trying to figure out who you were and why Bruce had called you here."

"Great. Really, just grand." Jason continued on his way up, shaking his head.

Upstairs, he paused between his and Dick's door. After only a moment of thought, he knocked on Dick's.

Alfred opened it. "Ah. It's Mas— I beg your pardon. Mr. Todd," he informed Dick. To Jason, he said: "I apologize; I, too, was the recipient of a fair amount of multiversal bleedthrough over the years, though nowhere on the scale of what Master Bruce experienced. But I'm afraid it's left me the habit of address of some of my counterparts. Would you mind terribly if I called you Master Jason?"

"Call me whatever you want; I won't be around long."

"He can come in," Dick said.

Alfred opened the door a little wider. "I'll relay your wishes to Master Bruce," he said to Dick, and left.

Dick was sitting cross-legged on his bed, the laptop in front of him. The ethernet cord stretched from the open wardrobe across the room.

"Hey," Jason said. "Uh, how's your hand?"

"It hurts," Dick said flatly.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault." He pecked at the keyboard for a few more keystrokes, then closed the computer and looked at Jason. "Bruce tested the knife. It's electrum. There'll be traces of it in my blood now. Electrum's like that."

"I don't know what that means," Jason said. "What's electrum?"

"It's an alloy, but they do something to it. Something that makes the Talons what they are. I don't really know." Dick took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know if what's in my blood will affect me at all without whatever else they intended to do to me, or if it'll even stay in my blood, or anything. And the only people I can ask are the ones who want to kill me and use my reanimated corpse as an enforcer."

Jason hovered awkwardly in the doorway. "That sucks," he said. It felt completely inadequate.

"Yyyep. Hence why I attacked you earlier. Sorry."

"Can't say I blame you, really." Jason leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, Dick, can I give you some advice?"

"Go for it."

"Get out of here. Out of this house and out of Gotham. You've spent so long in hiding, tangled up in this completely insane mess. You deserve a life."

Dick gave him a considering look. "Maybe," he said.

That was more than Jason had been expecting. "Yeah, well. You'll have at least one friend out there. I'm gonna go pack."

"Hey, wait a second." Dick got off the bed and went to the wardrobe. His papers and photos and clippings were a mess, but he pulled out the photograph of Jason's grave and held it out to him. "Aren't you curious?"

Jason looked at the paper askance. "Where did that even come from, anyway?"

"You've seen some weird stuff around here, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"This is what happens when you try to take a picture of it. It's not very clear, but I have a few other—"

"Dick," Jason said. Dick stopped shuffling through his papers and looked at him. "Do I really want to know?"

"Ah. Maybe not," Dick said. He folded the paper in half, creasing it crisply. "Maybe not about this specifically. But about who we are, in those other universes?"

Jason thought about the man in the leather jacket and the red helmet, about his comment. _Usually I'm the bad guy_. "I'm still trying to figure out who I am in this universe."

Dick nodded slowly. "Oh. Okay. Well, then, have a good flight, I guess."

"Yeah." Jason flicked at a rough spot in the doorframe with his thumb. "Yeah."

Jason was out of the manor by evening and checked into a hotel – _not _a Powers hotel – an hour later. He'd called a cab and hauled his luggage down himself. At this point, he'd pulled out his phone a dozen times to contact Talia, but each time had found himself at a loss for what to say. Finally, he settled for texting her. _Leaving Gotham soon. Where are you?_

She was in London and assured him that she'd be there for at least another week. She wanted an update immediately, but he put her off, saying he was fine and it'd be easier to tell her in person. He badly wanted something familiar, which was a difficult situation to be in when you'd grown up globe-hopping. Seeing Talia would help, though, and there were spots in London that felt almost homey.

He stared around the impersonal hotel room with its bland wallpaper, blindingly white bedding, and dull abstract artwork, and left. He wasn't far from one of the Gotham Public Library branches. That would do for now.

The library was, of course, closed, this being Saturday night and the libraries of Gotham being, like all libraries, underfunded. He sat on the ledge framing the steps as it got darker and cloudier, then looked up a deli. He picked up a muffuletta sub dripping with giardiniera, a bag of chips, and bottled iced tea and took his dinner back to the hotel room. He ate it at the glass-topped desk, trying not to drop olives on the tabletop, while looking up flights to London and arrangements for shipping his luggage.

Inevitably, he ended up checking his social media feeds, peering in on friends and acquaintances from his time at various universities. He'd moved around so much he'd not really developed any close friendships, but maybe that should change. Maybe he'd settle somewhere, and get to know the neighbors, and finally pull the last of his roots out of Gotham and plant them somewhere else.

Dick, Jason thought as he scrolled, probably didn't have social media. He didn't have a cell phone. Once Jason left, they'd probably never speak again unless Jason came back to Gotham, and Jason didn't particularly want the kind of attention this city liked to give him. Not even if Bruce and Tim's scheming bore fruit. Especially then.

Jason slept poorly that night. The hotel bed was too soft, the smoke detector light blinked at odd intervals, and the toilet occasionally gurgled like a happy baby. He gave up around four in the morning, deciding he might as well get on London time now.

His flight wasn't until Monday evening, so he spent Sunday writing down absolutely everything that had happened to him. He should have done that sooner, but he thought he might be experiencing some mild shock.

He arranged to rent a bike since the one Talia had gotten for him was still in the shop (Had it really needed repairs, or was Bruce just trying to keep him close?) He went to the hotel gym (don't think of the manor's gym), did laps in the hotel pool (don't think of the manor pool), and ate lunch at a café down the street. Nothing about the café reminded him of Alfred's kitchen.

Twitter informed him that Drake Industries had called a press conference early Monday morning. Jason closed the app, hating that he took note of the time of the press conference and promising himself that he would not look in on it because he did not care.

Monday morning found him standing in front of the Drake building downtown.

He was late, and there were serious looking people in suits checking credentials at the doors. Jason showed them his Head Foundation ID and was shown to a small section for industry attendees.

Tim was standing at a podium, dressed in a perfectly pressed suit, his expression calm, confident, and just a hint excited. Behind him stood Bruce and Dick. Bruce looked the picture of health, filling out his suit impressively, not trying to hide his mass for once.

Dick looked pissed, but Jason supposed it could be read as _fierce _or _determined_ if you didn't know him.

Tim was saying something about a partnership between Drake Industries and Wayne Enterprises, ushering in a new era for Gotham. It was a pretty speech and definitely coded. No member of the Court watching would mistake this for anything other than what it was: Tim announcing his own success and giving everyone a chance to get on board or get out of the way.

Jason didn't know how Bruce had convinced Dick to lend himself to Tim's grand plan after all. Maybe he should have stayed, tried harder to encourage Dick to get out, helped him somehow.

Maybe it was none of his business. Maybe he shouldn't have come. How many people in the crowd were owls?

He could tell the moment Tim noticed him. There was the merest pause between one word and the next, and his gaze lingered just slightly before going back to making strategic eye contact at different points in the crowd. Dick noticed, too, since he was watching Tim like he was a time bomb. He followed Tim's gaze to Jason and stood a little straighter, though his expression became no less thunderous.

When the conference was over and Tim and Bruce had answered several carefully chosen questions and the press began filing out, Jason stayed in his seat. Dick had gone with Tim and Bruce somewhere deeper into the building. Jason wasn't sure why he'd come at all. He'd been expecting something, he realized. An overt move from the Court, or some explanation for Dick's apparent cooperation.

But he wasn't a part of this story any more. He stood to leave, and was almost out the doors when he heard Dick's voice.

"—will literally be _right back_. Didn't you just finish telling me that this is the most secure building in Gotham?" Dick was saying. His voice was echoing up one of the hallways leading off the large lobby. Jason drifted toward it like an iron filing to a lodestone.

Dick was hurrying up the hall toward him, looking back over his shoulder so that he nearly collided with Jason. He watched where he was going at the last second and grabbed Jason by the arm instead, pulling him back toward the lobby.

"Good, you haven't left yet."

"Yeah, I thought— are you okay?"

"I don't know," Dick said.

Jason dug in his heels and swung Dick behind a broad pillar. "What's going on? Why are you working with them after all?"

"Oracle and Hawk thought it was for the best. I guess Tim got to them, too. He and Hawk know each other. Everyone seems to think pretending to cooperate with them is the only way I'll ever be free of the Court, but…" Dick took a deep breath. He'd been speaking quickly and was making a visible effort to slow down. "Jason, I don't feel free."

This coming from a guy who'd been locked in a mansion for a few decades. "What about Bruce?" Jason asked. "You know he'll protect you."

"If he can," Dick said. "The electrum's already in my blood. I'm one accident away from being put on ice until Bruce is no longer a concern. Tim showed me the science, if you can call it that."

"Was he threatening you?"

Dick hesitated. "No," he said. "I don't think so. He seems to really think just having me as I am on his side will be enough. But that still makes me a pawn the other side is just waiting to capture. And _they_ have a Talon."

Jason had heard enough. "Come with me," he said. "My flight's tonight. I can get you on it." He grabbed Dick's hand. "You don't owe them your life. It's the opposite. Get the fuck out of this insane city."

"He can't," Tim said, coming around the pillar. Dick jumped a little.

"Are you _trying_ to be creepy?" Jason demanded.

"No, but Dick shouldn't be unsupervised. And he definitely can't leave. We need him, and the Court will find him no matter where he goes."

Dick's jaw clenched, and then he hauled back and punched Tim, a swift hook that caught Tim high on the cheek. Tim stumbled to the side and Jason grabbed Dick's shoulder to prevent him from following up on the hit.

"I think," Jason said to Tim while Dick seethed. "That you had better find a way to _prevent_ the Court from doing that. You're smart, Tim. I know you can do it. And you owe me."

Tim assessed Jason, one hand on his reddening cheek. "I do," Tim said slowly. "Would that make up for lying to you?"

"And drugging me, and attacking Dick? Maybe," Jason said.

"Maybe not," Dick added.

"I can't believe I'm considering this," Tim said, and Jason wondered if he actually was or if this was another lie. "It's dangerous, and it complicates things. But… I'll do what I can to keep them off you. Just, give me a few days to make some calls, spin the story."

"That sounds promising," Dick said. "But you'd better work fast."

Tim sighed and pulled out his phone, moving to the front of the lobby to stand near the glass doors. Whoever he called, he was far enough away that Jason and Dick couldn't hear what he was saying.

"There's a side exit down that hall," Dick said in an undertone.

"My bike's in the parking garage next door. You got a passport?" Jason murmured back, keeping his eye on Tim

"In my pocket."

"Need to say bye to Bruce?"

"I'll send him a postcard."

Jason grinned and he and Dick slipped around the pillar and up the hallway while Tim's back was turned. It was a whole two minutes before Jason's phone started ringing, and by then Dick was tucked behind him on the bike and they were sailing off to Gotham International.

Jason couldn't wait to show Dick the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! All's out in the open now. I just quickly want to note that any ghostly words Jason heard over the phone in the story were lifted from issues of _Grayson_, when Dick is trying to call in an update on his mission and request a change in orders but Bruce, unbeknownst to Dick, can't answer.
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for sharing your wonderful theories and ideas as you read - it's been an utter delight reading them and I hope you find the resolution satisfying!


End file.
